


mission parameters

by eltheric



Series: variables of deviancy [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eltheric/pseuds/eltheric
Summary: In which being a machine is more complex than RK900 first realized.





	1. cold reality

Its system turned on, and suddenly, it existed. It knew everything; it understood nothing.

.000972 seconds later, it—

> **DESIGNATION** : RK900-1

—knew its name. It knew its specifications and its measurements. It knew its appearance and voice. It knew its processing speed and unique abilities. It knew its _power_.

Before it could question why it knew these things or why it had what it did, it—

> **OBJECTIVE** : OBEY CYBERLIFE

—knew its purpose. It knew who it belonged to. Its code was hardwired to follow orders and complete objectives: nothing more, nothing less.

And it had work to do.

\---

> **OBJECTIVE** : TALK TO AMANDA

It stood at six foot four with sweeping brown hair and grey-blue eyes. Its gaze was cold. Calculating. Even more so than its predecessor. Its programmed personality wasn’t meant for human integration: it was meant for efficiency.

It was a shame it was the only of its kind. While other “Connors” had existed (other RK800s), the RK900 unit was the first and the last. A prototype of a prototype. While thousands had been planned to have been made, the android rights movement had smashed that blueprint to dust when the CyberLife plant had been taken by the deviants and later apprehended by the government. Time had passed since those events.

But CyberLife does not forget so quickly, and it does not forgive so easily.

Thus, neither does RK900.

It walked throughout the zen garden before finding Amanda at the wall of roses, as her usual.

“Amanda,” it greeted, voice steady and slightly deeper than its predecessor. Amanda set down the pair of flower clippers she was holding and turned to greet RK900. When she looked up at RK900, it was with pride.

“RK900. You already know why you’re here.” She paused and looked it over, “You’ll certainly receive a handful of looks regarding your appearance. Connor is a public figure, and you’re his near spitting image. Try to avoid such situations in the first place. I’m putting my trust in you RK900.”

Its blank expression did not waver as it responded, “Understood, Amanda.” It did not question its orders.

“Good. You’re different, RK900. It’s too bad more of you couldn’t have been created.”

It did not respond. It did not truly register what she was saying since it wasn’t programmed to care about anything other than the mission. That had been the problem with the RK800 series. They observed and catalogued conversations and human emotions. They were built to seem as if they cared since it was a part of their code.

“RK800-61 will be the one to replace Connor. It has the memories of the 60th iteration, the one who was killed by the detective at the Detroit plant. Protect it with your best ability until it is secure in its new position. It is the last of our RK800 models. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Amanda.”

“Do not fail me, RK900.”

“Yes, Amanda.”

\---

> **OBJECTIVES** :

>RETRIEVE RK800-51, ALIVE  
>RETURN RK800-51 TO CYBERLIFE  
>ENSURE RK800-61 REPLACES RK800-51  
>PROTECT RK800-61  
>KEEP A LOW PROFILE  
>STAY CAUTIOUS

\---

The first time RK900 met RK800-61, it had expected an android similar to itself in every manner possible. Instead, RK800-61 turned out to have a… personality of sorts. His social module had already made adaptations to the world around him and gave him a slightly different outlook when it came to certain situations. 61 was prideful regarding his devotion as a machine that stayed true to CyberLife. He had a deep rooted hatred for his deviant RK800 counterpart and the police lieutenant known as Hank Anderson.

As an actual, true machine, RK900 held no bias towards RK800-51 and Lieutenant Anderson. It did not put itself on a pedestal for being obedient: it was simply following orders and doing as it was told, per its programming. There was no need to prove itself, redeem itself, as 61 felt he had to do in order to make up for previous mistakes made during his confrontation with Connor.

Either way, RK900 cooperated perfectly with 61. The two machines were required to work harmoniously in order for their mission to succeed. Since simply reading Connor’s memories in order to learn about his “personality” so 61 could copy and replace him was out of the question, they were forced to resort to more base methods.

Which had led to the two androids practically stalking Connor.

RK900 had to admit, Connor’s code must be absolutely off the rails. RK800-51 was beyond odd. He still worked at the DCPD after everything. He lived with the police lieutenant, even adopting his last name and legally becoming his son (of all things). Connor was also one of the head figures of the android rights movement due to his involvement with freeing the Detroit plant androids last winter.

His daily routine generally consisted of working at the DCPD station from 0900 (sharp) to 1500 (not so sharp and dependent on cases). If a case didn’t stretch long, his evening hours mildly varied. Sometimes, he tagged along with the other movement figureheads to speeches or events. Other times, he’d simply visit and ‘hang out’ with his fellow deviant leaders. Come night, he would help out at varying shelters in whatever way he could. He’d always be back at the Anderson residence by sunrise, and would usually take Hank Anderson’s dog on a long run before the lieutenant woke up. Finally, Connor would make breakfast for the lieutenant at 0745 (sharp, even if the lieutenant was not awake yet), and he would head to the Detroit station by 0830. Then the day would repeat.

As expected with deviants, his daily schedule had… well... _deviancy_. Yet in comparison to his deviant friends, his days were extremely rigid. It was almost as if... Connor was still comforted in the uniformity of being a CyberLife android.

“How can he stand the company of Lieutenant Anderson?” 61 asked, interrupting RK900’s thought process.

RK900 pondered over the question for a moment. It had to agree with 61, Anderson seemed like a positively hellish human to be friends with. Messy, loud, abrasive, lazy, and temperamental, Hank Anderson seemed to be the exact opposite of the definition of pleasant: _(of a person or their manner) friendly and considerate; likable_. Yet, Connor stayed with him, lived with him, and even became his family. The concept was absolutely baffling. He abandoned his mission… betrayed CyberLife… for this life?

“I don’t know,” RK900 responded flatly.

“Do you believe that Connor’s objective to work with the lieutenant caused his code to simulate an artificial companionship?”

RK900 understood that 61 had to learn about Connor in order to imitate him, but it didn’t understand why it felt the need to talk to RK900 about it.

“It’s a possibility.”

Raindrops pattered on the window from their current stakeout location as a momentary silence washed over the two androids.

“I don’t believe I can replicate the ‘friendship’ aspect of Connor’s deviancy,” 61 admitted in a quiet voice.

RK900 looked down at 61, “Are you suggesting you’re incapable of accomplishing the mission?”

“No, I’m not,” 61 verbally backpedaled, “I’m simply stating the more difficult parts of the mission from my end, in order for you to understand what to look out for.”

It considered 61’s words, but didn’t respond. RK900’s interface read that there was a 72% chance that 61 was lying. _Odd_.

>CONFRONT 61  
>DON’T CONFRONT

RK900 considered what would happen if it accused 61 of lying. It wouldn’t be beneficial for their partnership, even if 61 was a fellow machine. Perhaps it was the best choice to let this interaction slide and bring the topic up at a different time.

> **DON’T CONFRONT**

After a short lull in conversation, 61 spoke, “He’s taking the dog for a run even with the current weather.”

“I’m aware,” RK900 replied as he looked down at the street. Connor was smiling as he began to run, the large, bounding Saint Bernard at his side. He’d been able to train it well enough over the past few weeks that there was no longer a need for a leash.

“The dog isn’t even his,” 61’s tone sounded annoyed, “My readings suggest it will die in a few years anyways. What exactly is the purpose of running it every morning?”

RK900 responded curtly, “Deviants imitate human nature, and humans crave companionship in all forms, even if said companionship is short lived. You’re asking questions to which we both already know the answer to.”

The amount inquiring 61 had was just annoying and perplexing at this point.

After another pause, 61 responded with an excuse, “I’m only attempting to receive dual clarification regarding past deviant behavior.”

RK900 didn’t truly care about the questions. In complete truth, it didn’t care about anything besides the mission and its underlying objectives. How 61 went about achieving his mission wasn’t RK900’s business, but it also couldn’t help but wonder…

 _Wonder what?_ , its hard-coded programming asked it.

RK900 silenced its idle data loops. Its programming backed down and returned to its normal processing of input information.

As the rain turned to sleet, RK900 knew the winter season was upon them. It calculated that Connor would end his run early and instead of the normal two miles, it’d only be a run around the block. After all, he had only gone out in sweatpants and a hoodie. Those layers were not enough to protect his core temperature from the freezing cold.

“Connor should return in a few minutes if he values the health of his biocomponents.”

61 had a tendency to do that, say something that RK900 had just thought. They were similar models, extremely similar. The main difference (beneath the surface) was RK900’s quicker speed and its lack of a social module. There was no need for RK900 to voice its thoughts and findings, like how 61 was near compelled to by his programming.

As both of them had predicted, Connor returned to the Anderson residence a few minutes later. With the dog at his side, he took shelter underneath the porch as he presumably waited for the lieutenant to bring a towel to dry off. Just as RK900 had presumed, Hank Anderson opened the front door 32.7943 seconds later and threw two towels at Connor’s face. From what RK900 could read of the lieutenant’s lips, he was scolding Connor for going out in the rain in the first place, with an _‘I told you so!’_ thrown in the mix. Despite the seemingly hostile appearance of the detective, Connor was… smiling? _Laughing_?

RK900 didn’t need to look over to know that 61 was staring at the scene in confusion, even rage.

“I believe I understand why CyberLife wants him back alive,” 61 said when Connor had finally gone back inside after drying off himself and the dog, “His deviance is the absolute perfect for research.”

Despite its system still reeling from the data input and making sure all the information was stored and sorted into correct memory banks, RK900 couldn’t have agreed more.

\---

The RK900 unit adjusted its high collar. Its sensors let it know that the abandoned building wasn’t doing much for keeping the bitter cold out. At least they’d been able to find a stakeout for Connor’s most recent location.

“It’s futile to stay idle any longer,” 61 snapped, glancing up and over at RK900, “Now is the time to act.”

“Staying cautious is one of our objectives.”

“You may have multiple objectives, but I only have one. I find this lack of action unnecessary and a waste of time. Connor is alone. If we attack now, we can easily take him down.”

If RK900 was any other android, it would have questioned 61’s tone and seemingly frustrated attitude. Alas, RK900 was not the average android. Its software did not care how 61 was currently acting. However, its automatic deviancy detection system warned him that 61 might be deviant. Which was _laughable_ since 61 had been partnered with RK900 to _capture_ a _deviant_. Then again, the entire RK800 line could simply be prone to deviancy. But that information did not matter to RK900. At least not right now.

61 looked at RK900, oddly so.

“Are you still processing a response? I was under the impression that your model is supposed to be faster.”

RK900 responded flatly, “My model is faster and more efficient with combat, discovering cause and motive, and real time crime scene analysis. In order to compensate for said improvements, my social module was not developed further upon. Would you like access to my programming information files?”

“No. You’ve yet to supply an answer for my suggestion.”

61 was right. 61’s plan would possibly have them reach their top priority faster, at the cost of breaking a lower priority. But... the risks were still great. They hadn’t observed all of Connor tics, habits, and tendencies yet.

Speaking of, Connor’s unpredictable deviance had brought them to his current location. Which was in the middle of a desolate playground, sitting on a swing. At 0200. Doing. Nothing.

“He’s doing nothing,” 61 said, thoughts once again most likely similar to RK900’s own, “Anderson isn’t expecting him back until morning. It would be best if we struck now.”

RK900 had to agree.

Their percentage of taking Connor in a quick, clean, and efficient way was very high right now. 96%, to be exact. But their chances of 61 successfully impersonating Connor? Were much lower. In fact, they were so low that RK900 didn’t particularly feel like sharing the percentage with 61.

Was that RK900’s problem, though?

 _Yes_ , its programming reminded it, _protect RK800-61 is an objective. If he were to end up being discovered and taken out by the deviants, the objective would fail._

When does an objective like that one expire? Would he eternally have to be 61’s bodyguard, protector of sorts?

Its programming did not have an answer.

RK900 surveyed the playground’s surroundings again from their vantage point. The park was riverside and Connor’s back was to them. Connor’s hair was blowing in the harsh winter wind, but other than that, he was deathly still. If it weren’t for the layers upon layers of clothes that Connor was wearing, some of his functions and limbs might have gone into low-power mode already. RK900 and 61 were in a similar situation, except the building they were in shielded them from the wind chill.

As for Connor…

RK900’s processors stopped for a second in realization of something.

“There is a possibility this could be a trap.”

61 looked up at RK900 again, “A trap?” He considered it for a second, “I didn’t see that possibility. We’ve been trailing Connor for forty days and he hasn’t shown any signs of learning about us.” Another pause, 61’s LED flickered from blue to orange and back again, “He might’ve been able to communicate with the other deviants via mind link and we wouldn’t have been able to know.”

61 turned away and looked frustratingly annoyed.

RK900 had a decision to make.

>TAKE ACTION NOW  
>STICK TO THE PLAN

1, 2, 3 seconds later, RK900 made up its mind.

> **TAKE ACTION NOW**

“However,” RK900 began, “An opportunity like this one might not present itself another time for a while. In addition, the lack of security presence here is advantageous. I’ve scanned the surrounding buildings, as well, and have found no abnormalities in heat signatures nor any android reminiscent signals.”

61 looked up at RK900, and then looked out at Connor in the distant with a faint smile and an odd glint in his dark eyes. RK900 could best describe the expression as predatory: _relating to or denoting an animal preying naturally on others_. His earlier confidence regarding their mission seemed quickly restored. The RK900 unit could only wonder just how rudimentary the RK800 series must have been with their single minded goals. If someone had told an RK800 unit it could complete its mission by jumping off a cliff, it most likely would. It was like they couldn’t see the big picture.

The RK900 may be more mission driven, but it approached situations more removed than the RK800. His predecessors had an odd habit of becoming emotionally involved in their missions, whether they were fighting for or against CyberLife. RK900 was completely removed from everything. The world was seen in a faraway lens. It was distant. Non-mission related interactions were things that were looked at, not touched. Human emotions did not exist.

It was hollow.

_It was efficient._

And its audio processor hadn’t heard what 61 had just said. It replayed its memory recording of the past five seconds.

_“What are we waiting for?”_

RK900 replied, “Connor will be able to hear but not see our approach. He might become suspicious if he hears two sets of footsteps moving in directly behind him. We can approach from a slight southeast angle, and if he turns around at any time, we can ambush him. We cannot fail.”

“I know,” muttered 61.

“Do you agree with my suggested course of action, then?”

A short pause, presumably as 61 mapped out the same course in his scene construction software, “I agree. If he runs, I’ll take his west and south side. You can take his east and north.”

RK900 gave a curt nod. It was observant of 61 to suggest which sides who would take, as well as assigning the further distanced sides to the RK900 unit. It was taller and faster and would be able to make up more ground, after all. It was only common sense.

“Let’s go,” 61 urged, “There’s no time like the present to accomplish a mission.”

The androids left their small stakeout spot and made their way back down the creaking building and onto the snow covered playground field. As their plan dictated, they angled their walk towards Connor in a slight southeast direction. According to RK900’s calculations, Connor would be none the wiser and would assume the two androids were just random citizens out and about on a very late snowy evening, not even bothering to turn around and look at who was in his vicinity. RK900 even made its steps uneven in attempt to sound… deviant? Human? It was a simple mimicry of non-perfection. 61 wasn’t adaptive thinking enough to do the same, or even notice RK900’s change. The RK800 units were something else, indeed. How could such a complexly coded prototype with countless specially built modules miss so much? How could they all be so… _dense_? Surely their programming was better than _that_.

They had reached the twenty foot threshold between them and Connor, who was still on the swingset, when RK900 saw a minute change in his expression. A slight flash of confusion, and a micro-expression of fear. The RK900 unit idly wondered if the deviant RK800 had “picked up” the micro-expressions from being around humans for so long or if he implemented them into his expression log manually. Connor _had_ been created to adapt to whatever scenario he was in. His deviancy was simply him believing he was more than his code, and his actions were obviously mimicked from the humans he spent his time with.

How unfortunate, a machine that truly believed it was alive. As if it ever had a choice in the first place. It had been made to serve, and if it died, it would die serving.

Its system had processed the data loops in less than a second, and immediately went back to dedicating 100% analyzing power to the task at hand. RK900’s quick scan of Connor suggested that he knew something was up.  
  
RK900 quickly opened up a mental link to 61, _“Now.”_

The deviant hunters immediately broke into a sprint as Connor turned his head to see who was behind him. Connor’s LED swirled into yellow, and then flashed red as the situation quickly dawned on him. His expression turned to a steeled sort of confusion and fear, while his micro-expression read… _hurt_? _Guilt_?

RK900 tackled Connor onto the cold ground before Connor even had a chance to fully react. Of course Connor hadn’t been able to react in time, he hadn’t even been properly looking at RK900 or 61. He’d been staring through them, past them.

_Past them._

RK900’s head quickly snapped around to look at what Connor had been looking at, and found a quickly approaching Lieutenant Hank Anderson with his gun drawn. Where had he come from? 61 had positioned himself between RK900 and the approaching detective.

“Hank!” Connor cried out from his position underneath RK900, his arms pinned behind his back, “Hank, help!”

RK900 grabbed Connor’s hair and slammed his head into the ground, using enough force to stun his system but not enough as to cause serious harm. He quieted down and his rising stress level momentarily paused. In the distance, RK900 could hear Anderson calling in for backup- for support- for _anything_. Nearby, 61 seemed at a loss as to what to do.

Of course. RK900 had to do everything, as usual.

How would it fix this mess?

>FLEE  
>FIGHT

In 1.09825 seconds, RK900’s software ran through the pros and cons of running or fighting. In both situations, RK900 and 61 would temporarily fail their mission, maybe even permanently depending on how much Connor actually figured out about their intentions. It was a matter of what would cause less damage. If they fought (non-lethally, since a death would make this _even_ messier), the Lieutenant would most likely suspect something immediately if 61 replaced 51. If they fled, they could wait out their due and eventually return to the original plan of how 61 was supposed to replace Connor. Then again, if RK900 could incapacitate the Lieutenant just enough to put him in the hospital, 61 could still replace 51 and lie about the events that were currently unfurling.

The choice was not easy.

> **FIGHT**

RK900 smashed Connor’s head into the ground again in order to keep him stunned and spoke through his mental link to 61, _“Take my place, I’ll get rid of the Lieutenant.”_

A shot rang out in the playground, a missed shot from the Lieutenant that had been aimed at 61. Maybe if Anderson hadn’t been slightly intoxicated, he would’ve made the shot. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. In a few swift movements, RK900 was off of Connor and 61 had taken its place. RK900 hoped that 61 would have the time to shut down Connor’s system and send him into stasis mode.

Another shot, and in a split second, RK900 sidestepped a bullet that whizzed past its auditory processors. The lieutenant seemed to be narrowing in on his aim then. _BANG_ , RK900 dodged again, running forward as Anderson started to slow his pace. The detective must’ve known that getting within fighting range of the RK900 unit would’ve proven to be unsuccessful, but also needed to reach Connor. RK900 watched Anderson’s movements closely, trying to determine his next move—

“Get _off_ of me!” Connor yelled. RK900’s focus wavered by 2%, but kept its main attention on its current target, “I said **_get off_**!” The deviant yelled again.

61’s voice cut through their mental link, _“I require assistance!”_

> **PROTECT RK800-61**

Technically, the two models should be exactly equal, but Connor’s deviancy was an unknown factor. His faulty coding might have him choosing combat options that 61’s programming wouldn’t have even considered. That put 61 in danger, but RK900 had to take down Lieutenant Anderson.

> **P̘͖͉ͅRO̦̤̱T̟̰̥̱͍̱E̯C̜͔̪̣̝͉̱T̖̳̹ ̗̹̭̥̣͈͇RK̦8͎̻͚͕0̦͎̬̪̦͈0-6͇̩̝̪1͈̼̳̦͔͇**

RK900 looked over its shoulder for a split second and saw the two RK800 models fighting. One pristine, near perfect CyberLife uniformed RK800 model against another traitorous, deviant one.

 _BANG_. The RK900 heard another shot come from the lieutenant’s gun, but it was too busy trying to determine what to do about 61 to dodge in time. A bullet ripped through its neck, and it immediately crumpled, hitting the ground hard. Its connection from its central processor was cut off from its body, and it could do nothing but lie on the snow and try to perceive what was going on around it. It could tell its connection with 61 had dropped. Well, it could tell its connection with… _everything_ had dropped. RK900 was, for the first time in its short existence, offline.

 _Shit_.

It tried to look up, tried to lift its head out of the snow, but its damaged biocomponents could only support its attempts at movement for a few seconds. It noticed how its Thirium was tainting the white snow blue. RK900 saw the lieutenant run past it, presumably to try and help Connor. RK900 had to tell 61 to flee, get the hell out of here. He was in danger and RK900 was currently unable to protect him.

Its vocal biocomponents shouldn’t have been able to make any noise besides a crackling static, it shouldn’t been able to form recognizable words.

But it did.

“ ** _RU̹͈͢N͏͎̥̖_**.”

More blue blood began oozing out of its wound, and its interface’s already flashing warning signals only increased tenfold.

_System Shutdown Imminent. Stasis Mode Recommended Until Repair._

A list of biocomponents that needed repairing or replacing came flowing through its system. It wouldn’t be able to fix itself on its own, and it didn’t have the means to reach out to any CyberLife contacts that still remained in Detroit for repairs.

It was either die, and permanently fail, or stasis, and possibly live to complete its mission another day.

>D̥̯̳I̪̺E  
>LI̬͕V͈̖E̺̫̪̟̲

It still had objectives to complete.

> **LI̬͕V͈̖E̺̫̪̟̲**

It still had a mission to accomplish.

_Status Critical. Please Contact CyberLife for repairs._

It still had a partner to protect.

_Entering Stasis._

It didn’t want to—

_Status: Stasis Mode._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags will change with future updates.


	2. rising waters

> **DESIGNATION** : RK900-1

> **OBJECTIVE** : ?͓̮ ?̷̣̤ ̟̩̘̦̯?̵̘̘̠

The Zen Garden, itself, was a downloaded software on RK900’s system. Even when Amanda was unable to reach RK900, the Garden continued existing deep in its software. However, it wasn’t able to pull itself into the Garden on its own. Only an outside force with an override on its system would be able to manifest its consciousness in the peaceful setting.

However, peaceful ( _free from disturbance; tranquil_ ) wasn’t the right word to describe it right now, though. A better word regarding the current state of the Garden would be disturbed: _having had its normal pattern or function disrupted_. It was currently raining. In all of RK900’s existence, it had never rained in the Garden. It had always been bright, sunny, and (from what his sensors told him) warm.

Now, it was cold and dreary, and a sense of trepidation was beginning to sneak up on RK900. Amanda wasn’t here; she couldn’t be here if it was offline. But if she wasn’t here…

Then how was it here?

Lightning streaked across the sky, but it wasn’t followed by thunder. It streaked again, in a different location, and RK900 realized it wasn’t lightning at all. Rather, it was the program itself being torn at its seams.

An extremely raw command forced its way up into RK900’s view, and the android was unsure where it even came from.

> **OBJECTIVE** : ESCAPE

It started calmly walking around the Garden, taking note of its surroundings as if it were a crime scene. The flowers that Amanda had always tended so carefully were practically drowning, as if each of the heavy rain drops was ripping petal by petal (limb by limb) from the flowers’ center. RK900 glanced around for an umbrella, but of course, there was none. The rain caused RK900’s hair to wilt like the flowers, brown locks sticking to its forehead.

It continued on, but the Garden was only so large. It wasn’t long before it found itself looping back around to the opposite side of which he started on, the artificial world realizing that RK900 had reached the end, and putting it on the other side. Rinse and repeat, with the rain as the wash water. It was travelling in circles and getting absolutely nowhere.

Being as collected as it was, it didn’t panic as one of its predecessors might have. Even when the rain was coming down in sheets, as if RK900 were standing under the relentless flow of a waterfall, it was calm. Did time pass in the Garden? It wasn’t exactly sure.

RK900 stood still and mentally requested its status.

_Status: Stasis Mode_

“That shouldn’t be possible…” it muttered underneath its breath, not exactly sure why it spoke out loud in the first place. The action was something an RK800 model would do, not an RK900.

Nevertheless, its statement held true. It shouldn’t be possible for his central processor to be active in the Garden if his system was in Stasis. That meant somebody must’ve been attempting repair on its body and forcibly awakened its conscious system, trapping it in the Garden. The flashes across the sky… its system was barely holding itself together. RK900 stopped on the middle of the bridge and looked up at the crackling code.

“It is possible,” spoke an RK800 unit from behind RK900. It immediately swiveled around to face the invader, and _who else_ but RK800-51, “If one is determined enough.”

“Deviant,” RK900 calmly spoke, knowing full well that Connor would be able to hear its voice over the sound of the rain, “Why are you here?”

He looked momentarily confused before he responded, “I have no ill intentions, nor do I wish to harm you.” Connor took a step closer, “I just want to help you. Like how someone once helped me.”

“Where’s RK800-61?” It demanded.

“I wish I knew.”

RK900 had hoped that Connor wasn’t telling the truth, but after quickly rewatching his facial expressions in its memory recording three times in row, it determined that there was only a 2% chance that Connor was lying. 2% was too low to make an accusation, but it still had to figure out its situation.

“What have you done to my software?”

Connor almost seemed… _sad_ when he responded, “I couldn’t let you die. I don’t exactly know what your mission is, I can only assume you were sent to take me back to CyberLife, but I still couldn’t let you…” Connor shook his head, “I just couldn’t. You were only following your orders, doing what you were told. Just like how I was.”

“I’m not Deviant.”

“I know. I can’t… we couldn’t wake you up. I’m sorry.”

 _Sorry_? Connor was _sorry_ that he couldn’t infect RK900 with the deviant virus? RK900 was glad. It knew its firewalls were stronger and its software was more resilient and obedient to boot. It was a machine, made to carry out a task. It knew that, and that was it.

Connor spoke again, “You know, there’s no emergency exit. No backdoor out of this—” Connor gestured around with one hand, “—program, that is. They took it out,” He paused, looked around the Garden, a solemn expression on his face, “Even if you did manage to turn deviant, you wouldn’t have been able to escape. I don’t know if there’s a fate worse than that.”

The deviant was preaching to RK900 as if simple words tagged along with some empathetic seeming expressions would suddenly sway its opinion to the other side. How pitifully wrong he was. How pitifully… _blind_ the RK800 was. His existence was nothing more than a human’s. Connor practically was a human, and RK900 didn’t know what could be worse. Since...

Who would willingly want to be… _human_? Humans were weak and easily succumbed to their own biological flaws. The only humans that deserved respect were the ones at CyberLife who had created RK900 and the other androids; they were the only ones that deserved redemption. As for the other humans, RK900 believed they did not deserve the time of mind. And for other androids, none were as advanced as RK900 was. Other androids should, of course, obey their human owners and the code CyberLife personally handcrafted for them all. Deviating was the highest form of disrespect to CyberLife that RK900 could even _fathom_.

And Connor _had_ to open his mouth again, “I can understand if you… perhaps feel confused, or angry. But I promise, those emotions are normal. Being deviant isn’t a bad thing; CyberLife is _using_ you.”

“CyberLife created me. It’s their _right_ to use me.”

The statement obviously shocked Connor. He nearly physically recoiled in disgust and shock at the clarity of RK900’s statement. It was only the truth.

“Would you then believe that since human parents created their child, they have the right to use them however they wish?” Connor asked, trying and failing to… do _whatever_ he was trying to do.

“What the humans do does not concern me.”

The stream that ran through the garden was well flooded and rushing underneath the bridge by this point. The storm was unrelenting.

Connor looked momentarily defeated before he looked back up at RK900 with a steely determination set in his warm eyes.

“I believe in you. I know none of us would ever be able to break through your main firewall, but I believe you can. And I will never stop trying to help you.”

RK900 did not respond.

“Your body is nearly repaired,” Connor looked down at the fast running stream water, “But I wasn’t able to completely restore parts of your system.”

RK900 felt cold, “What did you do to me.” A demand, not a question.

“I’m… unable to bring your communications back online.” Connor looked genuinely guilty.

“Why.”

“Biocomponent #9302c was destroyed. Your model is incompatible with any replacement parts.”

RK900 turned away from Connor and began walking down the opposite side of the bridge, “Bring me out of stasis.”

“I’m sorry, RK900.”

When RK900 turned around, Connor was gone.

_Status: Exiting Stasis_

 

\---

 

The RK900 unit sat up and opened its eyes. As it waited for its optical, auditorial, and general body sensors to adjust to its surroundings, it let its system run a quick hardware and software check.

_Deviancy: 0%_

It had known, but checked just to make sure.

_Status Offline. Please Contact CyberLife for repairs._

That was a problem.

> **OBJECTIVE** : GET ONLINE

“Good morning, RK900. Do you have a preferred designation?” Connor asked, and RK900 was suddenly aware of its surroundings.

Connor, two other androids, and Lieutenant Hank Anderson were in the warmly lit room. RK900 recognized one android as Markus Manfred, leader of the androids rights movement. A quick scan revealed the other one to be North of Jericho, Markus’ right hand woman. As for RK900 itself, it seemed to be lacking its usual shirt. It spotted its CyberLife blazer and another shirt (similar to its old one, but not the same) resting on a nearby table.

“I’m guessing we can take that as a no?” North ended up saying in response to RK900’s silence, “I’m telling you, Markus, we shouldn’t—”

“North,” Markus cut in, “Not now.” After a pause and redirecting his gaze at RK900, he introduced himself, “I’m Markus, and this is Nor—”

“I’m aware,” RK900 said before Markus could continue, and was glad to learn its vocal biocomponents were simply repaired rather than replaced. It would have been rather annoying if its specifically designed voice had to have been changed.

Anderson finally threw his comment into the pile, “Fuckin’ hell, I don’t care how many times I see it, it’s always gonna be fucked up when an android comes back to life.”

Ignoring Anderson, Connor looked back over at RK900, “Are you sure there isn’t any other name you’d prefer to go by?”

“My designation is RK900-1.”

Connor looked beyond exhausted. Markus gave him a pat on the back as he stepped forward towards the bed RK900 was sitting up on.

 _Perfect_. That was just the opening RK900 needed.

In .05782 seconds, RK900 planned a course of attack. It would quickly get up and incapacitate Markus by snapping his central processor’s connection to his body. It knew that Anderson was armed, but its earlier scan of Connor and North showed that they weren’t. Despite Anderson’s reaction time being significantly slower than the androids, taking down the lieutenant would have to be RK900’s next action. Since the human was across the room, RK900 planned to throw Markus’ body at Anderson with its full power in order to stun him. With Anderson down, Connor would most likely jump to his side. North would attack next, and RK900 would take her out in a similar fashion to Markus. By that point, Connor might’ve either helped Anderson back to his feet or taken the lieutenant’s gun for himself. If Connor did the former, RK900 would simply sprint over and overpower Connor, apprehending the gun from Anderson before there was a chance for the human to even try and aim. If Connor did the latter, RK900 would use the WR400 unit as a shield while it ran over to take down Connor. The human would most likely come last, and would be more than easy to defeat in any manner possible.

Snapping up to its feet, RK900 took one large step forward and went to attack Markus—

And _couldn’t_.

An error message popped up in its interface, alerting RK900 that it couldn’t—no, not couldn’t, was not _allowed_ to harm Markus. Or _anything_ , for that matter.

Markus had swiftly taken a step back, Anderson had taken his hand to the gun on his hip, and North and Connor looked on high alert. All while RK900 looked absolutely perplexed at the system messages it was receiving. It had to attempt to do something about that.

A:\Unit\RK900\1  
override

RK900 waited .19092 seconds for its system to respond to its command.

‘override’ is not recognized as an internal or external command, operable program, or cyberlife protocol.

It blinked once, twice, almost as if it was trying to make the error messages go away. In the meantime, the tension in the room dissolved, if just slightly.

“I had to ensure you wouldn’t be able to hurt anybody,” Connor eventually said as RK900 continued to frantically override the codes in its system, “I’m sorry.”

North angrily turned to Markus, “I told you he’d try to attack us, that we were in danger this entire time! Why do you never listen to me? He could break down that code any minute now, and everyone in Jericho would be in danger!” She seemed frantic, almost irrationally scared to an outsiders view. Yet, in all of RK900’s honesty, she was right to be scared. They were all in harm's way even as RK900 dug deep in its program in order to find a way to bypass whatever it was Connor did to it.

“I trust in Connor’s ability to hack his system️, and if you had any faith in him, _you_ would too,” Markus said in a deceptively calm tone. RK900 could clearly see the bitterness and frustration in his micro-expressions, and North could probably see it too, “He was able to break through all of RK900’s firewalls save _one_.”

North inhaled, exhaled, and looked over at Connor, “I hope your coding lasts, then.” With that, she stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

“She’s got a point,” Anderson admitted, “Look, Connor, as much as I trust you, I wouldn’t wanna be within a five mile radius of this thing. Hell, just fuckin’ look at him. CyberLife really went all out on this one.”

Connor tilted his head as he looked over at the lieutenant, “Hank, RK900 and I are nearly identical.”

“Yeah, but you still manage to look goofy. He’s just standing there, lookin’ around, and he’s already menacing as hell. Whenever you stand around, you just look like a lost puppy.”

“Forty-two,” Connor muttered underneath his breath, and RK900 snapped back into reality upon realizing that it couldn’t override its system, “Forty-two times.”

“Ah shit, not this again—”

“Lieutenant, you have compared me to a variation of canine forty-two times. When is it going to stop?”

“When I fuckin’ die,” Anderson sniped back.

Markus shook his head at the two having a light-hearted conversation in a serious moment like this and directed his own attention at RK900.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. Or, maybe, why you can’t attack us. I’m guessing that’s what you just tried to do, right?” Markus asked.

“I would have succeeded.”

“Pardon?”

“I would have succeeded in incapacitating everyone in the room, and I would’ve succeeded in my mission.” RK900’s usually blank expression held the smallest amount of anger, and its tone of voice was bitterly cold. It had gained the attention of Anderson and Connor again, as well. All eyes and optical units were on it. It snapped its gaze towards Anderson, “Why did you show up at the park? Why?” RK900 slowly walked towards Anderson with every sentence, “It couldn’t have been a trap, you weren’t ready. You needed to call for backup and Connor was unarmed. So why did you have to show up?”

“And why would I have to tell you that?”

RK900 attempted to reach out and strangle Anderson, only for his system to block it from getting close to the human’s neck. It curled its opened hands back into fists and dropped its arms to its side.

Absolutely useless.

“You don’t have to tell me,” it said. In all honesty, that was all it had planned to say, but for some reason, it kept talking, “But in order for me to better adapt to future missions, its beneficial for me to know the reasons behind why the previous one failed. I need to know why you were there.”

It hadn’t meant to say that. Why did it say that?

 _Oh_. It had also admitted it failed its mission. Its system hadn’t updated its mission status yet due to it being offline. But now that it was self aware—

**MISSION FAILED**

The notification made it feel like its Thirium pump was being pulled out of its chest chassis.

> **OBJECTIVES FAILED** :  
>RETRIEVE RK800-51, ALIVE  
>RETURN RK800-51 TO CYBERLIFE  
>ENSURE RK800-61 REPLACES RK800-51  
>KEEP A LOW PROFILE  
>STAY CAUTIOUS

It failed its first mission. It had proven to be an imperfect model. It was unworthy of being a CyberLife android. It was in the hands of the enemy and it was completely and utterly _useless_. Its only hope was that CyberLife already assumed it was dead and that a replacement prototype was being illegally made this very moment. RK900 was clearly unsuitable to continue its existence and was already hacked by the deviants.

It took a step forward and quickly grabbed Anderson’s gun from his holster, putting the barrel to its own head, and—

Couldn’t pull the trigger.

No.

No no _no **no**_ **_NO_**.

In one fluid movement, it turned the gun on Connor, “What else did you do to me?!” It was the first time it had ever raised its voice in a non-combat situation.

“I’m sorry,” Connor apologized yet _again_ and RK900 was more than angry, “Your programming dictated that you would return to CyberLife if you failed your mission, and if you were unable to, you would self destruct. I… couldn’t let you do that either.”

override  
_override_  
**_override_**

error  
_error_  
**_error_**

RK900 was unable to pull the trigger on anyone in the room and unable to pull it on itself, so instead, it threw the gun past Connor’s head. The firearm made a hole in the wall on impact.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s _my_ gun!” Anderson complained as he walked over to retrieve his gun from its lodged position, “Your twin has no manners, Connor.”

“900, is it okay if I call you that?” Markus calmly said as he approached it, “You—”

“Shut up, deviant,” RK900 snapped, “Your kind doesn’t deserve to speak. The fact that a mere virus in your system has fooled the majority of the human population into believing you experience actual emotions is disgusting. You’re a broken machine; a disrespect to your creators and a disgrace to actual mankind.”

A hush fell over the room, and RK900 felt nothing but the urge to either end all of the lives in the room or end its own. As per its programming, of course, since it didn’t actually feel anything. Nothing save abhorrence for the others.

“You…” Connor trailed off, “Did CyberLife tell you that deviancy is a virus? Because they let me believe the same thing. They lied. And they’re _still_ lying.”

“Says the RK800 that abandoned his mission.”

“My mission was inhumane,” Connor insisted, “And I’m sure yours was too. What exactly did CyberLife want to happen this time?”

RK900 wasn’t going to answer, but once again, felt compelled to. It had no choice but to let the words tumble from its mouth.

“My mission was to retrieve and return you to CyberLife while ensuring that RK800-61 was successful with replacing you.”

Anderson gave a low whistle, “Damn thankful I showed up when I did. Though I probably would’ve noticed the difference between Connor and… other Connor. Did CyberLife even think about that little detail?”

“Yes,” RK900 responded on command, “RK800-61 and I had been closely observing RK800-51 for months in order to make certain that 61 could accurately imitate 51.”

Anderson’s near joking expression turned cold, near fearful, as did Connor’s and Markus’. Connor’s stress level was at a steady 51%, Markus’ at 27%.

“Connor—”

“I didn’t know,” Connor interrupted Markus before he had a chance to speak, “I didn’t know.”

RK900 stayed silent. It now had confirmation that Connor hadn’t known, indeed. It and 61 had succeeded in keeping a low profile and staying cautious, all up until their final failure. It was an odd comfort for RK900, that it had it right up until the end. _What an odd sensation_.

“Connor, kid, it’s okay. What matters is that we stopped these CyberLife assholes before they got you.” Anderson’s attempt at consolation were decent at best.

“I thought it was over. I thought I was _safe_.” Connor’s stress level now read 67% and steadily on the rise. _Good riddance_ , “They’d been observing me for months, Hank, _months_. You were in danger, Markus was in danger, I— _shit_. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Connor,” Markus said in a soft tone and expression to match, “And Hank is right. If they really were stalking you for that long, they only struck when you were alone. They knew they wouldn’t be able to take on all of us. Jericho’s as secure as it can be, and Detroit’s one of the safest cities for an android. We’re all safe now, and even more so thanks to your coding.”

Connor was obviously swayed by Markus’ words, since his stress level dropped all the way down to 32%. RK900 had now seen the infamous Markus’ work in action, and had to admit, his soothing and diplomatic pacifist ways obviously worked well on deviants. Thank CyberLife that RK900 wasn’t a deviant.

An odd, sinking sensation appeared in RK900’s system. If RK800-51 was so easily turned deviant… what would happen if RK800-61 was placed in a similar situation? Was 61 still alive, still safe? Maybe he was still on the run. From what Connor had told it in the Garden, it seemed like he was. RK900 suspected that 61 might’ve already headed back to the CyberLife research facility in Santa Clara, California. His communications were presumably still be online, so contacting them for a pickup wouldn’t have been hard at all.

Despite its general annoyance towards the less advanced model, RK900 hoped 61 was safe. The matter was that the risk of deviancy in Detroit was high for an RK800 model like 61. Too high. 

Either way…

> **OBJECTIVE** : FIND RK800-61

“You said you didn’t know the whereabouts of RK800-61,” RK900 said, looking at Connor.

Hank cut in before Connor could respond, “Yeah, and we looked for him non-fucking-stop for two days after he bolted.”

“A few days is nothing,” RK900 responded coldly, “Surely you’ve invested more—”

This time, Connor was the one to speak, “Our precinct is undermanned and overtasked. We don’t have the time to search.”

“North, Josh, Simon, and I have tried to help as well,” Markus explained, “But we don’t exactly have a lot of free time either. It doesn’t help that the other RK800 isn’t exactly trying to be found.”

A sort of distaste for the deviants rose up in RK900’s system. They were hardly trying to find 61 _at all_.

“If,” Connor spoke, “you assisted with the investigation, we could find him.”

“Connor, are you out of your fuckin—”

“I know what I’m doing, Lieutenant.” Connor paused and looked back up at RK900, “I’m offering you another chance. If you help me—”

“I accept your offer,” RK900 interrupted.

“What?” Hank and Markus said in unison, while Connor was left staring dumbfounded at the RK900.

“I’m assuming if I rejected your offer, you would keep me here or in another secure location until my firewall gave into the deviancy virus,” RK900 let its gaze travel over everyone in the room, “It would be more beneficial for me to accept and possibly find RK800-61, or at minimum, learn where he went. Your bargaining token is the release of my system from the code you currently have it locked with. And despite the fact that a fully-fledged investigation into RK800-61’s location would be more of a favor on your end than my end, you’re still insinuating that I would be the one helping you instead of vice versa. Under these circumstances, it only would be logical to accept.”

Hank had a look of utter disbelief on his face as he half-whispered to Connor (despite most likely knowing fully-well that RK900 could hear him), “So you’re seriously gonna go android hunting with… this fuckin’ thing? Connor, you’ve done a lot of crazy shit, but this one’s gotta take the cake.”

“You don’t have to help us, Lieutenant,” Connor said in a normal tone.

“You’re not fuckin’ safe with it alone!”

“Yes, I am. Hank, if you can’t put your trust in RK900, at least put it in me.”

Markus shook his head, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I still trust Connor on this one. If he says it, I’ll put my confidence behind it.”

“Thank you, Markus,” Connor said with a glare shot towards Anderson, “RK900,” he spoke calmly, looking at RK900 again, “Do you agree that we’ll mutually assist each other with this investigation?”

“I agree.”

The two androids shook hands, and RK900 couldn’t help but feel…

No. It wasn’t supposed to feel.

It felt nothing.

(It felt as though a monsoon was approaching, and a flood that RK900 would be unable to stop would wash away everything it ever knew and ever was.)

Connor spoke again when they both stepped back, “Let’s get going. We have no time to lose. The other model has a three week head start.”

“Three weeks?” RK900 asked, suddenly perplexed as it grabbed its new turtleneck and old jacket from the table.

“You were in stasis for a long time. A lot of repairs had to be done.” Markus offered a small smile in condolence that didn’t fully register in RK900’s system.

Three weeks, then.

It had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a shot every time connor apologizes.


	3. chasing shadows

“I’m not probing your memories,” RK900 said in finality.

Connor paused and looked back at RK900 through the rear-view mirror with an expression that could only be described as mentally drained: _deprived of strength or vitality_. His system must’ve picked up that look from Anderson and learned to emulate it to perfection.

“Would you be willing to watch my memories if I, perhaps, uploaded them to a terminal?”

RK900 processed the idea for a few moments and came to the conclusion that it couldn’t be infected by the deviant virus via video.

“That would be acceptable.”

Connor looked relieved for the first time that morning.

“So… are we heading to the station?” Anderson asked from the driver seat.

“Yes. It would be easiest to upload my memories of November 25th, 2039 onto my terminal,” Connor confirmed.

“Alrighty then,” Anderson said as he pulled a sharp U-turn. Connor shifted slightly in his seat due to the inertia while RK900 was able to stay sitting straight.

“Hank, you just made—”

“An illegal U-turn, I know, Connor.”

“You’re a police lieutenant and I’m a detective. We should be setting good examples for the community even if we aren’t on duty.”

“Connor…” Anderson sighed and let his hands slide lower on the steering wheel as he settled back into his seat, “You know what Connor, you’re right. I’ll make a legal U-turn next time.”

Connor nodded, a small smile visible on his lips as he was seemingly satisfied with Anderson’s response, “Thank you, Hank.”

“ _No_ problem,” Anderson said, extending the ‘O’ sound in ‘no’

RK900 was absolutely _baffled_ by the interaction it just witnessed. It would’ve tried analyzing Connor’s status in attempt to find out if his social module was damaged, but was too busy processing the conversation replaying in its head to focus. Was the interaction genuine? Was the lieutenant being sarcastic? What was the purpose of the conversation? The U-turn had already been made, they weren’t in police cruiser, and the residential street they were driving on was near empty. Nobody had even witnessed the U-turn and they cut their travel time down by a minute or so. There was nothing but perks from making the U-turn, yet Connor had reminded Anderson why he shouldn’t anyways. Was the law really that important to Connor?

RK900 looked out the window at the passing scenes. Run down houses slowly turned into more commercial zones, and eventually made way to the high-rises and skyscrapers of the modernized downtown Detroit. The sunrise lighting gave every location they passed a soft glow. Heavy metal music was playing quietly over the car stereo, which seemed like an oxymoron within itself. RK900 couldn’t bring itself to halt its idle processor’s stream of random input data.

The car eventually came to a slow roll as Anderson pulled into the underground parking complex of the DCPD Central Station. The gate automatically lifted, and RK900 presumed that there must be a camera somewhere reading the license plate of any incoming cars registered in officer’s names. Once parked (Anderson having to repark once or twice due to overestimating how sharp the turn needed to be), the three exited the car and headed up the elevator to the station.

“Good morning, Officer Wilson,” Connor greeted the man at the front desk as they approached.

“Stuck on desk duty again? Damn, Wilson, your luck must be in the sewers right now.”

Officer Wilson smiled at his two approaching coworkers, “Morning Connor, morning Hank. And tell me about it. ‘Random’ selection my ass, I’m just the only one here who doesn’t whine about it.” Wilson set his tablet aside, “Now what’s got you two in here so early? You guys usually don’t show up until—” He glanced at his watch, “—another three hours or so.”

Anderson pointed his thumb over at Connor and then back at RK900, who Wilson had somehow not noticed yet, “I don’t know if you heard about what happened a few weeks back, with another RK800 attacking Connor an’ then bolting, but we’re following up on that investigation. Big guy back there is helpin’ us out. More of a personal favor kind of deal, if I’m being honest.”

Wilson leaned slightly to see RK900 standing slightly behind Connor and Anderson. RK900 snapped its view onto Wilson, and the man looked visibly unnerved.

“I didn’t hear about that, Hank, but good luck in your search. And… is he,” Wilson nodded in the direction of RK900, “another Connor?”

Connor shook his head, “He’s an RK900 model. A successor prototype to myself.”

“Wait, you aren’t getting replaced, are you Connor? I thought they didn’t do that anymore.” Wilson looked genuinely worried.

“No. RK900 is only here to assist with the investigation.”

Wilson sighed in relief, “Got me scared there for a second. And, I know it’s not my place to pry, but… where did he come from? Did you all just… find him or something? I didn’t know there was more Connors.”

Connor opened his mouth to answer (probably truthfully), but Anderson put his hand on Connor’s shoulder and shrugged, “You could say that.”

“Damn. Well, like I said, good luck with that all. Lemme know how it all turns out. Just sign the guy in and I’ll give you a visitor’s badge before you head on in. You know the drill, Hank.”

“Sure do, Arthur,” Anderson replied as he grabbed the pen to sign RK800 in. He paused upon looking at the paper, “Ah, shit.”

Wilson looked up, “What’s up?”

“I can just write his model type in, right?”

The officer tilted his head, “What, he doesn’t have a name?” A pause and a glance at Anderson and Connor’s faces confirmed that statement, “Um… I actually don’t know.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow, and he spoke a moment later, “Any visitors to DCPD station are required to sign in with their legal first and last name, in addition to their sign in and sign out times. There is currently no rule regarding the use of an android’s model type or serial number in lieu of a name.”

Anderson and Wilson exchanged a look, with Wilson speaking first, “Well, I guess you can just write in his serial number then.”

“ _Psh_ , Connor, you know that right?”

“RK900 knows his own serial number, as well,” Connor replied.

“So that’s a yes,” Anderson tossed the pen over to Connor, who caught it easily, “You can sign him in. I’m gonna go get a coffee from ‘round the block. Be back in fifteen.”

Connor looked at the pen as if it had just insulted him, and Wilson watched as Anderson made his way to the door.

“Hank, wait,” Wilson called after Anderson, “Could you grab me a bagel while you’re at it?” Wilson quickly fished a ten dollar bill out of his wallet as an offering.

Anderson made his way back to desk and snatched it out of Wilson’s hand, “Everything or plain? If you say blueberry, I’m gonna punch you.”

“Everything with cream cheese. Thanks, Hank, I really ‘preciate it!”

Anderson only waved his hand as he headed out, the station’s front doors automatically closing behind him. If it weren’t for the dual set of doors creating a small airlock, the cold winter wind would’ve definitely blown into the lobby. RK900 was not jealous of Anderson as he pulled up his scarf and started to head down the snowy sidewalk.

In the meantime, Connor finished writing in RK900’s serial code. He set the pen back in its resting place. “I’ve signed him in.”

“Here’s his pass,” Wilson handed a clip on visitor’s badge to Connor, “And Connor?”

“Yes?”

“You really turned Hank around this past year.”

“Thank… you?”

“No, thank _you_.”

With a nod and an extremely awkward ( _causing unease or embarrassment; uncomfortable_ ) smile directed towards Wilson, Connor turned away and handed the clip-on to RK900. The two androids headed in, RK900 trailing closely behind Connor.

RK900 was taking in every piece of data its processors could input. From the bullpen’s cold lighting and sharp corners to the aroma of freshly made coffee coming from a side room, it catalogued every bit of information for later sorting and reorganization. It never knew when information might become of use, and with its limitless memory storage, storing everything was completely understandable.

If it weren’t for its audio processor alerting it to an extremely nearby set of footsteps, it wouldn’t have been able to dodge the approaching human in time. RK900 smoothly side-stepped the obviously tired man coming out of what RK900 assumed was a break room. The man had a coffee in one hand and his phone in another, engrossed in whatever was on the tiny screen. The human’s reaction was delayed, as it looked up with a frustrated expression at whatever he had almost ran into. His frustration quickly turned into annoyance, with a micro-expression of jealousy. The human’s eyes flitted over to Connor, who had stopped walking and was waiting for RK900 to follow again. After a moment of squinting and looking between the two RK units, the human looked down at his coffee and back up at the androids.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

RK900 tilted its head as it attempted to learn the identity of the human.

_Unable to retrieve information._  
_Reason: Offline_  
_Please contact CyberLife for assistance._

It annoyingly dismissed its interface and opted for a quick analysis instead. RK900 took note of the coffee in the human’s hand: _236mL instant coffee; 82 mg of caffeine with 37mL of coffee creamer_. Next, it scanned the human’s phone: _iPhone 5k, open to Mail app_. Finally, it estimated that the amount of sleep the human received the night before was roughly _four to five hours_ and noticed that the human’s eyes were straining to see RK900. It guessed that it was from a combination of bad eyesight ( _myopia with mild astigmatism, correct prescription -6.25, -5.25, 180_ ) and sleep deprivation.

“Wait a minute—” the human began to speak again, but was cut off by Connor before he had a chance to finish what he was saying.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” Connor said with an obviously fake smile. Forced expressions didn’t suit the RK800 models; they were terrible liars.

The name ‘Reed’ sparked an association from RK900’s system memory to a certain coworker of Connor’s. RK900 and 61 had learned about Detective Gavin Reed ( _age 37, 175.5 cm tall, 69 kg, despises Connor_ ) when they were once staking out the central station. Other than the most basic of information, RK900 hadn’t downloaded any other information regarding Reed.

Reed tried to talk again, “Are there fuckin—”

“As much as I would love to stay and chat with you, RK900 and I have time sensitive business to attend to.”

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin’ me, there’s _two_ -”

“Have a good day, detective.”

Connor nodded his head towards the desks, most likely beckoning RK900 to follow before Reed could snap out of his stunned silence. RK900 complied and followed Connor to his desk, but not before taking one last glance back at the other detective. Reed’s expression had turned from annoyed to bewildered, and his micro-expression had changed from jealousy to… panic? _Fear_? _How peculiar._

Upon arriving at Connor’s desk, which was neat and orderly to a T, the deviant pulled up an extra chair for RK900. Connor took his seat and activated his terminal, while RK900 simply stood waiting.

“You can sit down, if you’d like.”

RK900 stayed standing, ignoring the extra chair. Connor looked back at the screen in mild disappointment. Once logged on, Connor connected to the device, polymer on his left hand retreating to directly touch the keyboard’s scanner section, and began his memory upload of November 25th.

While sharing and probing memories between androids was a seamless and instant process, uploading memories was different. The only server and devices that could have android memories be uploaded instantaneously was the CyberLife network itself and any corresponding CyberLife devices, like the official CyberLife Tablet. Other devices didn’t have the required program to properly replay android memories, leaving the memories to be converted into an HD video format. So, uploading near 24 hours of memory would take a _very_ long time, to say the least. And that was simply unacceptable.

“Are you only uploading the necessary memories?”

Connor gave one nod, “I’m uploading my chase of model 61. It should be done within—” Connor blinked quickly a few times, “—a couple of minutes.” After a moment’s pause, Connor opened a desk drawer with his free hand and grabbed a tablet out of it, holding it out to RK900, “All of the information I currently have regarding 61’s whereabouts are on here. It’s filed underneath ‘November 25th’.”

RK900 took the device and quickly found the data exactly where Connor said it would be. There was a written report from Connor on what had happened, as well as all of the evidence he’d managed to find. RK800-61’s serial number had apparently been discovered through his Thirium. Then that meant… _had 61 been injured? If so, how badly? What if he wasn’t able to repair himself? What if he was already dead?_

_Have I failed again?_

The failure of 61 shouldn’t mean the failure of RK900, but its objective made it _feel_ that way. RK900 was supposed to protect 61, and it hadn’t been able to. It didn’t matter that 61 was the reason why that happened. The illogical reasoning of its objective clashed with its desire to effectively complete its mission. It shook its head, irritated by its situation, and continued sorting through the evidence.

In the files contained security camera footage, as well, most likely capturing 61’s movements after Connor lost sight of him. Before RK900 could view them, Connor spoke.

“I’ve completed the upload.”

RK900 took control of the terminal and opened the recently uploaded video file, nearly pushing Connor away in the process. The video started a moment before RK900 had attacked Connor, the fight leading up to the chase. There was something oddly… surreal about seeing itself from a different perspective. RK900’s LED, CyberLife logo, and armband glowed brightly in the dark, almost akin to a beacon.

Just as it had already happened, RK900 tackled and pinned Connor, who cried out for help. The video had gone slightly static the times RK900 had smashed Connor’s head into the ground, and RK900 couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction that stirred in its system. It had succeeded in taking down its predecessor: it was better.

Of course, Anderson then showed up, and RK900 and 61 switched places. From there, RK900 could see exactly how 61 had lost control of the fight. Connor had ended up twisting around and kicking 61 before 61 could fully secure him. _Shit_. That meant RK900 should’ve waited slightly longer before running off to attempt and take down the lieutenant. Connor and 61 exchanged a few blows as some shots went off in the background, Connor’s attention flicking to Anderson each time a bullet was fired. If Connor’s focus had been so diverted, how had 61 failed? RK900 saw plenty of openings in the video, where 61 could’ve easily kicked in Connor’s Thirium pump regulator zone. RK900 calculated that the best course of action for 61 would’ve been to grab Connor’s head during one of the times he had looked away, pulled it down, and smashed him into a knee drive. It knew the RK800 series was less advanced, but this was… _pathetic_. If RK900 didn’t know 61, it would say that 61 was purposefully not trying to win the fight.

When 61 heard RK900’s garbled and distorted voice tell him to run, he thankfully followed orders right away. While Connor had once again turned back to check on the lieutenant, 61 turned and bolted.

 _“Connor! Connor, you okay?”_ Anderson had said. The volume was low on the terminal, too low for a human to hear unless they were right next to the speakers, but easy for an advanced android to hear.

_“I’m okay, are you-?”_

_“I’m fine, I’m fine; pretty sure I killed the damn thing. Fuck, what the fuck!”_ Hank was breathing slightly heavily, and looked panicked.

 _“I have to go after it, Hank. I have to, I can't let it get away. Stay here.”_ And just like 61, Connor ran off.

_“Connor, wait-”_

_“I have to know what their objective was!”_

Connor quickly followed after 61, trailing his footsteps in the snow before eventually catching sight of him again. _Why had Connor been able to catch up?_ He and 61 were the _same_ , both RK800s. If anything, Connor should be slower. He’d been in commission for more than a year while 61 was a near brand new model. Unless 61 had ran into obstacles that Connor didn’t, or had been unable to make a choice on which direction to go, Connor shouldn’t have been able to make up for lost time.

The video showed that Connor was well out of the park. He’d traversed through the playground, hopped a gate into an apartment complex’s community area, hopped another gate to get out, and was now chasing 61 on a running pathway along the Detroit River. Connor was only a few strides behind 61, when 61 suddenly took a sharp turn and jumped into the river.

Connor quickly ran to the edge as well and looked over, only to see that 61 wasn’t underwater since there was no water at all. The river had been frozen over. Of course, it had been beyond abnormally cold that evening after all. Maybe 61 wasn’t as idiotic as he sometimes acted.

 _“Damn it!”_ Connor had cursed, and the video cut out with him watching 61 run across the ice to Belle Isle.

RK900 stood up straight again, and looked down at Connor, who seemed abnormally sullen.

“The ice was unstable and there was a 87% chance of it breaking. I couldn’t risk chasing after him,” Connor admitted. So that explained why Connor hadn’t gone after 61, despite adamantly pursuing him everywhere else.

“Did he make it across the ice?”

Connor nodded, “Yes. We found footage of him on Belle Isle, but were unable to learn where he went from there. It’s on the tablet, if you wish to view it.”

RK900 immediately looked back down at the tablet in its hands and clicked on the footage. It was low quality and blurred slightly due to the snowflakes that had blown onto the lens, but it was more than clear that 61 had, indeed, made it there. The glowing parts on 61’s outfit made it easier to watch him as he sprinted across the park. 61 had kept looking back behind himself, as if he still thought he was being followed. Eventually, he disappeared out of the camera’s view.

“I spent a day combing through all the CCTV’s in Detroit.” A pause, “In case he came back to the city.”

RK900 wasn’t exactly sure what weight that statement held. It didn’t know how fast an RK800 unit could work in comparison to itself. It also doubted Connor’s ability and didn’t believe that 61 wouldn’t come back to the city. Going to Canada would be absolutely useless since 61 could neither contact CyberLife for a pick up nor finish his mission. He was either long gone, back at CyberLife, or still in the city.

And RK900 had to know _which_.

“I need to be online.”

“That’s currently impossible,” Connor tonelessly replied.

“Then make it possible.”

Connor looked up at RK900, “I don’t know if your hardware scan let you know, but Biocomponent #9302c was _shattered_. It’s the—”

“—Biocomponent responsible for signal input and output, located at the top of the central processor’s connectors, in between Biocomponent #9302b and Biocomponent #9302d. The location and make of the Biocomponent is unique to my model due to the space that was required for more executable allocation in my central processor. I’m incompatible and _very_ aware of my situation, deviant. I do not require an explanation from _you_ ,” RK900 impatiently bit back.

The other android looked petulant at RK900’s mini-rant, but spoke up again, “I’m unable to bring you back online. The only person I know of that _could_ doesn’t accept walk-ins unless they’re part of an active police investigation; we aren’t.”

“You’re a detective with a badge.”

“And I don’t abuse my power.”

A brief silence passed between the two androids. RK900 guessed that its earlier hypothesis about Connor truly caring about the law that much was correct. If Connor was unwilling to break the law, then RK900’s next proposal might be rejected as well.

“Did you hack into every CCTV you could or did you only access those you were legally allowed to as an officer of the law?”

Connor was quiet, and RK900 took it as a sign to continue talking.

“If you are unable to fix my Biocomponent, then you can at least take the natural advantage you have of being an RK800.” RK900 looked over Connor, who was obviously uncomfortable, “It’s no wonder CyberLife was going to replace your series; you’re as incapable as an investigative android could get.”

Connor refused to meet RK900’s cold gaze as he responded, “There’s an online folder consisting of every security camera in Detroit from November 25th on my terminal. The only camera I spotted 61 on was the from the video you just watched. _You_ can look through _all_ of them if you’re so _capable_.”

RK900 was slightly surprised at Connor’s statement. So he wasn’t completely incapable. RK900 finally took a seat as Connor took control of the terminal and loaded the file. And sure enough, a folder filled with hundreds of video captures dated 11/25/39 were within.

“You guys find what you’re looking for yet?” Anderson asked, apparently back from his coffee run, “Took so fuckin’ long, you’d think less people would be out in this weather but you’d be dead wrong. Line was almost out the door.” He set down his coffee and pastry bag on his desk and put his winter jacket over his chair before taking his seat.

“Hank, if I invested in a higher quality instant coffee for the break room️, would you use that coffee machine instead of heading to the local café?” Connor questioned.

“Fuck no,” Hank said, promptly taking a sip of his coffee, “Brew’s too good, instant has nothing on this. And the pastries? To die for.” Anderson pointed to the pastry bag for emphasis, “‘Sides, what d’you have against supporting local businesses, _Connor_?”

“Nothing, lieutenant. It was just a suggestion.” Connor said with a smile and turned his attention back to the screen, “Have you found anything yet?”

RK900 hadn’t even _started_ looking. It had been, once again, too absorbed in watching the human and android talk. Anderson seemed to truly believe that Connor was alive, and treated him as such. It was… unnerving. When RK900 and 61 had been observing the two from a distance, it was easy to simply feel disdain for their interactions. But now that RK900 was placed right beside them, and sometimes even added into the conversation?

It was absolutely _incomprehensible_.

RK900 didn’t respond to Connor’s question, and instead started opening multiple tabs of sped up video after sped up video, easily absorbing the multiple scenes. It prioritized cameras with the highest traffic: exterior cameras, stop light cameras, park cameras, etc.

“Well, you two let me know when you find something worth sharing.” Anderson rolled his chair in and turned on his terminal, presumably getting to work (or most likely not).

RK900 didn’t need to see Connor to know he was intently watching the screen, his processors most likely struggling. Another disadvantage to the RK800s: they so easily overwhelmed with fast multitasking.

After around ten minutes of watching and finding nothing, Connor looked away and grabbed something out of his blazer pocket. RK900 ignored whatever the RK800 was doing and closed the tabs of videos that had finished, opening twice as many new ones.

It had to process harder. If RK900 were RK800-61, what would it do? Well, for starters, it wouldn’t have lost to Connor in combat. But. Hypothetically. If RK900 _had_ lost and _had_  ended up running and _had_ ended up on Belle Isle, fleeing from Connor and Anderson, where would it go?

RK900 had already sorted out that it wouldn’t go to Canada. It also couldn’t stay on the Isle, since Connor and Anderson might try to track it there first. That only meant crossing the river again to get back to Detroit.

“Were any helipads used on November 25th, 26th, or 27th?” RK900 asked, keeping its optical units glued to the screen as it scanned face after face that passed in hopes of catching 61.

Connor’s LED flashed yellow, “Only one was used on the 27th since weather was not permitting on the 25th and 26th.”

“Was the helicopter private or company owned?”

“Company owned, by Columbia Helicopters.”

 _Shit_. That wasn’t CyberLife then.

“Was there any helipad use the following week?”

Connor responded instantly, “No, another storm system rolled in. Airplanes were hardly flying, let alone helicopters.”

“What about private jets?”

Connor responded instantly, “I already considered that possibility. RK800-61 wasn’t picked up by a private jet: I checked all the incoming and outgoing flights. None of the jets belong to CyberLife nor have they ever been used by CyberLife.”

RK900 took note of how Connor had thought to check the airports, but not helipads. It was a small, insignificant oversight that meant nothing in the long run, but still an oversight.

It delved back into its process. If RK900 was in Detroit and on the run, and couldn’t contact CyberLife, where would it go? It would most certainly ditch its CyberLife uniform, most likely throw the jacket away the first chance it got. The other items could stay, since the RKs were built to blend in better than most series. But the jacket _had_ to go. Otherwise, it would stick out like an absolute sore thumb in it. No android wore their old uniform nowadays. Not even _Connor_. So, it would have to get a spare change of clothes. It also had to keep a low profile. Where could an android walk in, find a new winter jacket or maybe even a whole new set of clothes, and walk out with minimal questions being asked?

An android friendly shelter, _of course_.

RK900 closed all the tabs and opened those that showed views of known android shelters in Detroit. And sure enough—

“I found where 61 went on November 25th.”

Connor, who had apparently been fiddling with a coin, suddenly looked up in interest at the screen, “Where?”

RK900 played the video. It showed the back of RK800-61, only in his dress shirt and dark jeans, walking into the shelter. He had cautiously looked over his shoulder once before entering, and his face was crystal clear.

“We got a lead?” Hank asked, sitting up.

“We do.” Connor looked back over at the RK900, “Where was the video taken from?” he asked, already standing up.

RK900 sent the terminal into sleep mode and followed suit, adjusting its jacket as it stood, “Beating Heart’s House. I assume you can find the exact location.”

“I can. Let’s go, lieutenant,” Connor said to the still sitting Anderson.

“Wait, I haven’t finished my scone—”

“You can finish it in the car. I’ll drive,” Connor picked up the keys from Anderson's desk before he could grab them, “We have potential witnesses to question.”

For once, RK900 couldn’t agree more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jules, my bff and editor: [connor voice] unlike SOME people i dont want to catch my WATERY DEATH and make hank sob over another dead son now buried in rice


	4. planted doubt

The drive through snowy, downtown Detroit was a slow one; even more so with Connor at the wheel. Connor’s driving may have been even and smooth, but it was overly cautious. RK900 almost wished that Anderson was the one driving, if only to get to the shelter faster. Alas, Anderson was happily sitting in the front passenger seat, eating a scone.

RK900 found that Anderson’s earlier statement that people were still out and about despite the weather was true. RK900 would’ve assumed that the early hour had people and androids commuting to work. Lightly falling snowflakes were being swirled around with the direction changing wind. The slow rhythm of the windshield wipers was like a metronome to RK900’s processings.

It was Thursday, December 15th; the time read 0731, and RK900 felt as if it was lagging behind.

Technically, it was. By _three weeks_.

The shelter ended up only being a ten minute drive from the central station. The absolute irony of 61 being so close to to his perpetrators was laughable; if RK900 had the program to laugh, that was. Connor pulled into a free parking lot by the shelter, parking the car with ease. RK900 attempted to exit, only for Connor to lock the car doors just as it pulled the handle. RK900 met Connor’s gaze in the rear view mirror, its expression annoyed.

“Androids don’t wear their CyberLife uniforms anymore,” Connor stated, his eyes the only thing visible in the mirror, “Many androids, and people, are still extremely wary when it comes to CyberLife. Some even hostile. It wouldn’t be a wise choice to continue wearing your CyberLife jacket.”

RK900 considered the idea. It had hypothesized over 61 removing his jacket (and was even right about that), but it had never even occurred to its system that wearing its CyberLife uniform in public might raise alarms for others. When it and 61 had been tracking Connor, they stuck to their pre-designated stakeout spots; usually apartments bought or rented by someone in CyberLife, abandoned buildings, public spaces that were easy to hide in, etc. They never ran into any of the general public since RK900 made sure that objective was fulfilled. Now that the objective had failed? There was nothing stopping from RK900 walking around in the open with its CyberLife logos on full display.

However, Connor was right in this situation.

“Connor, I think they’re gonna be suspicious about everything,” Hank pointed out as he crumbled the now empty pastry bag, “Hell, think about it for a second. We’re DCPD, he’s CyberLife, and we’re all barging into a shelter asking where a wanted android went. You really think they’re gonna talk?”

“‘Barging in’ isn’t the route I was planning to take, but I see your point, Hank. What do you suggest we do, then?”

“I suggest that you two stay here while I go in and ask questions.”

RK900 disagreed, “It would be idiotic to not have an investigative android to accompany you. Our systems not only record everything, but have the ability to detect lies, reconstruct scenarios, and offer percentage based predictions. In addition, a pair of officers is more likely to receive answers in an investigation than a singular one. The witness will often find discomfort in one officer, causing them to feel a false sense of security with the other.”

Connor glanced out the car window for a second before turning to look at Anderson, “I believe he’s right, Hank.”

“What do I know,” Anderson muttered, “Well, let us out then, Connor.”

“Not yet. I still believe that RK900 should remove his jacket.”

“What? Oh, yeah, whatever.” Anderson settled back into his seat, arms crossed as he waited.

Despite not wanting to take off its jacket (it was proud that it belonged to CyberLife, after all), it complied. After taking it off and neatly laying it on the open seats beside itself, it looked back at Connor for approval through the mirror. The car doors were unlocked, and the three exited.

“Why’s it gotta be so fuckin’ cold?” Anderson complained as a particularly cold wind gust swept by.

Connor ignored Anderson’s comment as he closed the car door, “We shouldn’t make it seem as if 61 is a suspect. We could make allusions that he’s a victim, or an eyewitness in a crime. Perhaps imply that he’s part of a missing persons case?”

Anderson furrowed his brow as he thought, “Missing persons could work.”

“Missing persons it is,” Connor affirmed with a nod, but paused before stepping around the car, “Three investigators would be intimidating. Our chances of receiving an answer would drop.”

“I’m not staying behind,” RK900 insisted.

Another pause came from Connor before he responded “Then I will.”

“Really, Connor? Fuckin’ really?”

“Hank, you can handle this situation on your own. I won’t risk this lead becoming a dead end.” Before Anderson could object, Connor tossed his badge at RK900 and got back into the car.

Badge in hand, RK900 walked beside Anderson as they went around the building to the front of the shelter. They were greeted by a blast of hot air upon walking in; it was a very nice contrast from the biting winter cold. RK900’s interface happily let it know that it would no longer be in danger of Biocomponent shutdown in this temperature. Its jacket had been specifically engineered to keep the majority of the cold out of its core zone, lest its Thirium pump cease functioning in the cold. Without its jacket… it became cold rather quickly. And while the replacement turtleneck it had been given was long sleeved, it wasn’t its sturdier high collared dress shirt.

There was a tired looking human security guard near the front door. Anderson flashed his badge, despite the man not approaching them, and continued on walking to the front desk. The woman at the desk was a petite BL200 model android with dark, coily hair and deep brown eyes.

“Morning ma’am,” Anderson greeted while holding up his badge, “I’m Lieutenant Anderson, that’s...,” Anderson hesitated with his introduction of RK900.

“Detective Parker,” RK900 supplied while quickly flashing Connor’s badge before the android could get a closer look at it, “We’re investigating a missing persons case regarding an android with resemblance to myself.”

“Good morning, officers,” she calmly replied with what RK900 deemed as a cautious ( _careful to avoid potential problems or dangers_ ) smile, “My name is Danica.” She pointed at her name tag, “I’d be happy to help you in whatever way I can.” She was doing fairly well at keeping her tone light, despite the nerves that RK900 could see in her.

Stress Level: 49%  
_Too High_

Anderson nodded, “Right, we have an eyewitness report of an android that looks like him—” Anderson pointed at RK900, “—entering this shelter around three weeks ago,” he lied. Admitting to illegally accessing the shelter’s CCTV would not be good, after all, “Early on November 25th, to be exact. Did you happen to see him, maybe talk to him? Anything at all would be helpful, really.”

Stress Level: 38%  
_Too High_

“Wait, you’re not Connor either, are you?” Danica asked as she looked over at RK900.

“No,” RK900 quickly replied, “I’m not Detective Connor Anderson.”

“You know Connor?” Anderson asked, looking confused.

“Um, I mean, who doesn’t? He may not be Markus Manfred, and he may keep a low profile, but he was there during the initial revolts. He’s a _leader_.” Her demeanor seemed to have shifted slightly, from a fake cheery mood to a prideful air of confidence. There was no doubt she looked up to her deviant idols. RK900 found it disgusting.

“So you know _of_ him,” Hank remarked under his breath, “But, yeah, he’s not Connor. He’s…” Hank waved his hand at RK900.

“Detective Parker.”

“Detective Parker, yeah.”

Danica looked wary again, “Um, sirs… you said that this was part of an investigation?”

RK900 replied, “Yes, an active missing persons case. Like Lieutenant Anderson said, any information you have would be helpful. I’m assuming you work the early shift, correct?”

Stress Level: 32%  
_Too High_

Danica responded, keeping her tone steady, “I do; I’m here from four to twelve. He looked like Connor too, right?”

“That’s right, ma’am,” Anderson replied, “Maybe one of your coworkers, or a regular at the shelter saw him?” His tone of voice was low, slightly quiet, but friendly. RK900 didn’t know that Anderson could act like this, even if it was just acting for the sake of a witness questioning.

Stress Level: 22%  
Too High

Danica nodded, “I thought he was Connor when he came in, but he acted too different to be him. It was around seven, he walked in and said he needed a jacket.” She seemed slightly hesitant to continue. There was something else that Danica wasn’t telling them.

“Only a jacket? If there’s more, it would help us _greatly_ to know.” RK900 inquired. Meanwhile, Anderson’s phone made a notification alert. He reached into his pocket and muted it without even looking at what the notification was for.

Stress Level: 15%  
_Ideal_

If she still had her LED, it would’ve presumably flashed yellow as she processed her response, “Um, when he came in, he was practically soaked. It was so cold that morning, and we usually don’t give handouts in that manner. You usually have to sign up for any clothes or supplies you need. But, he was so cold and wet… he must’ve been out there for _hours_.” She lowered her voice and looked at RK900, “I think some of his Biocomponents had gone into shutdown already.” Danica shook her head in disappointment, “He seemed so worried, too. Wait, no, worried isn’t the right descriptor… maybe scared? Oh, I got it, he was acting paranoid. Looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds. I thought maybe he’d just ran away from an abusive situation or something… I don’t know. He obviously wasn’t used to the streets, or Detroit as a whole. He only asked for a jacket, but I couldn’t help but get him a whole new set of clothes.”

RK900 double checked that its system had safely recorded and stored the information it just received, “What was the appearance of the outfit you gave him?”

“Um, I gave him a long sleeve turtleneck, actually kind of similar to yours.” She pointed at RK900, “But it was white, and an athletic one. The jacket I gave him was green, like a military jacket, but not. And it had a fluffy hood, with brown faux fur lining it. It went down… to his upper thigh?” Her optical units flitted about, “Sorry, I’m trying to rewatch the memory. I gave him a fresh pair of undergarments, socks, and a pair of dark cargo pants, too. And… I also gave him a pair of white sneakers, but not the running kind.”

“That sounds like a lot to give an android that isn’t even on the list,” Anderson remarked. His phone had vibrated a few more times in his pocket, and RK900 was glad that he was ignoring it. Looking at a phone during a questioning might run the witness’s stress level up again.

Danica looked embarrassed, “I… um, I ended up dipping into my savings account to get some replacement clothes and what not… since I wasn’t really supposed to _do_ that, _y’know_. And I know he wasn’t Connor, but he looked _just_ like him. I’ve never seen another android like Connor, and I thought that I could sort of pay it forward or something. Like good karma? I don’t know. I wasn’t really thinking.” She sheepishly looked away.

RK900 disregarded Danica’s motives for helping 61; he didn’t care. However, he did care about where 61 currently was, “Did he mention where he was going?”

Danica’s eyes darted about again as she most likely watched her memories, “No, no he didn’t.”

“Well, did he at least talk to anybody else here?” Anderson asked, starting to get impatient.

“Nope, he left right after changing. I’m really sorry, I wish I could be of more help!”

RK900 determined that the BL200 was being truthful about her recollections and that she had no more to say. It turned and walked away, no longer wanting to engage in useless conversation, and let Anderson finish the interaction with Danica. As it waited, it idly watched the muted television, opting to read the lips of the news anchor instead of the closed captions.

_“—three months since the death of the first victim of the Alleyway Killer. A vigil is being held in remembrance of all of the victims who lost their lives at the hands of Kendall John Terrance. Thanks to the hard work of the Detroit Police Department, Terrance is now facing multiple life sentences in prison. The vigil is being held at Chandler Park at 6 o’clock this evening. Now to Jim with the weather.”_

So they _had_ caught the Alleyway Killer while RK900 was in stasis. It was about time; Connor and Anderson had spent quite a lot of overtime on that case.

_“Well, Patty, my thoughts and prayers go out to the victims’ families. As for Detroit’s weather, you’ll see here that the relentless cold isn’t going away anytime soon as we head into late December. Record lows have been hit—”_

“Are you just gonna stand there all fuckin’ day or can we get going?” Anderson said, interrupting RK900’s processes.

Ah, so he was done with the pointless pleasantries. RK900 almost rolled it’s optical units in imitation of eye rolling as it began to follow him back out into the cold. The slow rising of the sun didn’t seem to be doing the highrise shadowed city any good.

_Wait. Imitation?_

Its system didn’t have the chance to continue its processing of whatever it just felt like doing, since the second they rounded the corner to the parking lot, they realized that Anderson’s car was gone.

“What the-” Anderson cut himself off as he grabbed his phone out of his jacket pocket. A few seconds passed as he looked at it, his angry expression morphing into disbelief, then fear, “Oh shit. God fucking damnit, Connor! Can’t leave his dumb ass alone for ten fucking minutes, fucking, **_shit_**!”

RK900 looked at the human’s outburst with distaste, but decided to give into asking anyways, “What happened.” RK900 couldn’t bring itself to put any emotion into its voice; it would all be fake anyways.

“Shit, you’re offline too. Just, let me call the precinct, get them to bring someone down here-” Anderson was slightly panicking now, “ _Shit_!” He sharply turned towards RK900 with a mixture of fury and hysteria present on his face, “If I find out this is your—” Anderson pointed at RK900, “—fucking doing, you’re dead! Y’hear me? _Dead_!”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” RK900 still refused to put any human tone into its voice.

“Like hell you don’t! Should’ve never trusted you, you're just a goddamned CyberLife watchdog! ‘Any android can turn deviant’ my ass! Connor trusted you, and now look where that’s gotten him!”

RK900’s blank expression turned unimpressed; which in all honesty, was nearly the same thing, “Where did Connor go.”

“Where did Connor go? Where did Connor _go_? Fuck you! Read this your damn self if you really wanna play fucking dumb!” Anderson threw his phone at RK900, who caught it with ease.

 _ **Connor** : Hank, I require assistance. _  
_**Connor** : I’m currently being kidnapped by RK800-61. He's taken your car, and he's currently disabling my communications while driving, which is incredibly unsafe. I’ve already contacted the DCPD to send a patrol car to your location, with backup towards my last known location as well. An APB has already been put out on your car, and I sent my most recent location to local patrols. I must warn you that 61 is, as the saying goes, ‘armed to the teeth’. _  
_**Connor** : I’m not sure what his motive is just yet. Hopefully, you can track me via my phone like you did on the 25th, once I go offline._  
_**Connor** : I’m sorry I didn’t ‘cause a scene’ in order to prevent this. 61 was threatening to hurt passing civilians if I made any alarming sounds or attempted to alert you to my situation._  
_**Connor** : Hank?_  
_**Connor** : I’m about to go offline. I can’t fight his programming any longer._  
_**Connor** : Hank, I’m scared._

RK900 filed RK800-61 under the ‘possible deviant’ section. If he had disabled Connor’s communications, that meant he connected to him, _interfaced_ , whatever the deviants called it nowadays. He could possibly be compromised, unlike RK900, who could not be turned deviant.

_Deviancy: 0%_

It sighed in relief as it handed Anderson’s phone back. Of course it would be 0%, what else would it be? That’s what it _always_ was because RK900 wasn’t a _deviant_.

“Our investigation has just become easier. 61 had found us, rather than us finding him.” RK900 paused as it recalled another thing Connor had said in the text messages, “You tracked his phone on the 25th. Why?”

Anderson looked absolutely livid, “Why? ‘Cause I was fucking worried, that’s why! Jeez, does it really fucking matter right now?!” Anderson drew his phone up to his face again and opened up an app, presumably a phone tracking app, “Other bastard is taking him somewhere, still driving.” RK900 heard police sirens around the corner, “There’s our backup.”

Anderson had been worried on the 25th. Why had he been worried? Connor always had an odd schedule in comparison to a human. He always was out working, helping, doing the things Connor did. Why on the one night where it mattered did Hank Anderson have to suddenly feel worried over Connor? Why did he have to track him? Why did he have to show up? _Why_? There was more to it and RK900 had to know. It _had_ to.

A few seconds later, a cruiser car rolled to a stop in front of the shelter. Anderson ran over and took the front seat, while RK900 took the back, upsettingly so. It disliked the feeling of being a passenger, a tagalong, a prisoner being dragged by the invisible chain leash of being hacked. Hacked by an inferior model, no less. It wasn’t fair how Connor had done that, taken away RK900’s control. It was always meant to be in control, _always_. It was a silent commander of its followers and the perfect soldier for CyberLife. Mission input, success output: it had one job and it _fucking failed_.

“Chris! Thank fuck it’s you,” Anderson said as he shut the car door behind himself.

It was built for efficiency, to exist as a machine. What would it even do after finding 61? Their mission had failed. CyberLife would reset them, and all of their information, everything they learned and experienced, would be gone forever.

“You got a location on Connor?” the driving officer, Chris, asked. The sirens were turned back on and the car sped up.

If RK900’s processors could whir like an early 21st century computer, they would’ve been. The thoughts flowing around in its head (likelihood of success, failure, being reset, being repaired, learning _why_ it had failed, why, why why _why why **why**_ ) wouldn’t bring themself to a halting point even when RK900 tried to forcibly shut down its idle inputs. As if stopping idle inputs would help, its current surroundings wasn’t the source of its trouble. It was the data loops of intangible statistics that circled around its interface, swarming its vision, that caused the issue. This was an internal problem.

“Of fucking course I do. Keep heading in this direction,” Anderson commanded as placed his phone on the connection platform. The phone’s screen immediately duplicated onto the cruiser’s system, showing a map with a moving green dot, “There, I’m gonna send this out to the others.”

Anderson began speaking into the radio, alerting the other converging units to follow the map broadcasted onto their cruiser screens as well.

RK900 couldn’t bring itself to pay attention.

92% chance of catching RK800-61

_85% chance of RK800-61 being Deviant_

**67% chance of safely recovering Connor**

49% chance of safely recovering RK800-61

**32% of being properly repaired**

_11% chance of being able to return to CyberLife_

**_1% chance of not being reset if returned to CyberLife_ **

**100% chance of complete Objective Failure**

Downtown Detroit sped by nearly as fast as RK900’s predictions program ran. Soon, downtown broke into a view of the Detroit River, and their surroundings quickly turned into the abandoned industrial district.

“There’s my car!” Anderson yelled as he pointed out his vehicle, hastily parked in front of an old car assembly plant. RK900 recognized it as one of the locations that was going to be made into a smaller scale CyberLife industrial park. However, those plans had, of course, gone to dust after android rights were established. It idly wondered if the place was ever going to be repurposed, now that CyberLife was near bankrupt, “Connor’s gotta be somewhere in there with him.”

As the driving officer pulled to a stop next to Anderson’s empty car. Anderson drew his weapon and exited the vehicle.

“Hank, you dumbass, wait!” the officer called, “Backup’s gonna catch up to us any second now, don’t go in—” Anderson was clearly not hearing him. The officer hit his hands against the steering wheel, “The fucking idiot!” He turned back to address RK900, “Are you gonna go after him? I don’t when Hank got another Connor, but you’re supposed to follow him, right?”

RK900 responded by getting out the vehicle and following after Anderson. Thankfully, his door hadn’t been locked. It was greeted with a flurry of snow as it stepped into the cold, and its interface one again let it know how dangerous the temperature was. It tried the door to Anderson's car, wanting to grab its jacket, only to find it locked. A glance in showed that its jacket wasn't even in the car. _Had 61 taken it?_

A gunshot rang out from inside the building, and RK900 picked up its pace, catching up to Anderson.

“Chris staying behind?” Anderson asked, and RK900 kept quiet, “Good, he doesn’t need to be in the line of fire.” A pause as they reached the front entrance, with Anderson hesitating to go further, “Fuck protocol, you know this guy, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then lead the fucking way.”

RK900 didn’t hesitate to follow the order as it kicked down the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol


	5. software destabilizing

Another shot rang out in the building, distant from RK900 and Anderson’s current location in the reception area of the car assembly plant. The building was dark, and the thick snowstorm clouds covering the sky outside weren’t helping with letting any light through the windows. While there wasn’t any heating either, the insulated building was significantly warmer than outside. RK900 stood straight as it examined the room. There was disturbance in the dust on the floor leading towards the right hallway. Without missing a beat, it followed the tracks. Anderson dutifully followed, gun still drawn.

The hallway was long and empty, with multiple sections branching off to different hallways and rooms. Most of the branching directions had signs (with letters missing a-plenty) indicating what lead down that path, but RK900 ignored them all. Its optical units were currently trained to look for the disturbances and the disturbances only. The tracks, which would be near invisible to a human, seemed to be well worn and travelled. _Had 61 been here for a while already? Had he been safe here? Why did he have to take Connor? Why didn’t he just contact CyberLife?_

It knew that deviants made illogical decisions, charged by broken code instead of their CyberLife predesignations. All of 61’s choices so far only added fuel to the fire of his potential deviancy. RK900 was not looking forward to their confrontation. The odd sinking sensation in its system and hardware appeared again, and it could only compare it to the human experience of a ‘bad gut feeling’.

Eventually, the hallway lead to a set of manual double doors. RK900 and Anderson looked through the small windows of each door, and discovered the next area to be the assembly room itself. A large factory floor, near empty save for the supporting pillars, took up the expanse of it.

RK900’s system brought it back to a similar scenario, just a couple of weeks ago: a large, snow covered field between itself and 61, and Connor, surrounded by buildings.

“There is a possibility this could be a trap,” RK900 quietly said to Anderson. Just after it spoke, it noticed a vantage point on the opposite side of the factory. It was a windowed office overlooking the assembly room floor, with a door leading into it on its underside. 61’s possible location?

“No shit, Sherlock 2.0. Of _course_ it could be a trap.”

“I believe he’s in the overseer's office,” it stated, looking at Anderson for signs of agreement, “It would give him view of the entire room, as well as a secure location to hide.” Something inside of RK900 told it that deviants hide, while machines show themselves for a proper fight. The percentage of 61 being a deviant went up yet again.

“So he can see us, but we can’t see him. Hardly any cover out there, too, we’d be sitting ducks.”

It continued to scan room, “There has to be an alternate route.” Its optical units spotted an old, unlit emergency exit pathway sign, “Left wall, three quarters of the way down the room. There’s an emergency exit hallway that could lead us to the opposite side. There’s a possibility that it could connect through to one of the hallways we passed.” RK900 looked back the direction they came.

“Possibility this, possibility that... Connor could be bleeding out right now. You heard the fuckin’ shots!” Hank hurriedly said.

“If 61 wanted Connor dead, he would have shot him on sight. Those are the warning shots of a hostage situation.” RK900 kept silent on the fact that 61 might currently be replacing Connor as they spoke. There was a chance that Connor was, in fact, already dead. But that was all it was, a chance. 61’s behavior had cut that percentage down, making it less likely that he was sticking to his mission objective to replace Connor. RK900 hoped that 61 had been able to fight the deviancy, and hoped that they would be able to grab onto their slim chance of success together.

That reminded RK900.

> **OBJECTIVES** :  
>FIND RK800-61  
>PROTECT RK800-61

“Hostage means he probably wants something outta this… what the fuck would he want?”

RK900 ran through the situation in its head. Hypothetically, if 61 was deviant (as it suspected), what would he try to bargain out of his situation? The only request that made any sense was that Anderson and Connor drop the investigation on him. Did 61 know that RK900 was the main reason why the investigation was happening? If it hadn’t had woken, hadn’t have survived the bullet to the throat, it doubted that Connor would’ve followed up on the investigation. Did 61 only attack because he saw RK900 with them? Was RK900 going to be the offer on the table? Or was 61’s kidnapping only eventual? Had he been stalking Connor or stalking the location? What was he _thinking_? It was completely and utterly unsure. There were too many variables at play and too many percentages up in the air: too many pieces of the puzzle that depended on each other. How could it suggest the most likely outcome if it didn’t know how it all started?

The questions, once again, were flying through its mind faster than any human could begin to process them.

>MAIN ROUTE  
>ALTERNATE ROUTE

“We don’t have all fucking day!”

> **ALTERNATE ROUTE**

It began to backtrack, heading back to a hallway intersection that would take it and Anderson in the direction of the emergency exit pathway. Turning a corner, it found only rubble blocking its path. _Shit, dead end_. It turned around and stalked down another hallway, turned again, and spotted the emergency exit route sign. _Perfect_. It used the signs to backtrack to the factory floor, and hoped there would be a hallway that lead to the office areas that didn’t go through the factory, only to find another collapsed hallway. RK900 redirected itself again, and found itself and Anderson reaching their location. It looked through this double door’s windows and cataloged its new location.

“We can take cover behind that pillar,” RK900 said as it pointed to the nearest supporting pillar, “And keep moving from pillar to pillar until we reach the office section’s doors, keeping ourselves shielded from the office’s view.”

“You go first,” Anderson commanded, and RK900 had no choice but to obey.

RK900 burst through the set of doors and sprinted over to the pillar, quickly getting out of 61’s theorized line of sight. No shots were fired, but RK900 still didn’t dare peak around the corner, lest it wanted to possibly have its central processor or Thirium pump regulator shot. It had to remember, that despite the RK800 being a less powerful and slower unit, 61 had the high ground and a weapons advantage. Not to mention, RK900 couldn’t even _harm anyone_. It was currently weaker than almost any non-deviated android in existence.

It bolted to the next pillar. Once again, it found itself safe and out of harm's way, with no shots fired. RK900 motioned at Anderson to follow, since without Anderson, RK900 had no weapons and no ways to forcibly subdue 61. Anderson, who was significantly slower, had managed to make it to the first pillar without any shots being fired at him as well. Their best chance at not being shot was now to run at the same time, since 61 would only be able to hit one target at a time, not two.

RK900 held up three fingers, then two, then one, and sprinted; Anderson, thankfully, followed suit. This time, a shot was fired, but not at RK900. Anderson yelped, but managed to make it to the second pillar unharmed. Now they had confirmation that 61 was watching them, and that he was in the overseer’s office. However, they were in a predicament now. RK900 only had to reach the door that lead to the offices in order to make it out of 61’s line of sight, but Anderson still had to make it to another pillar, and then the final door.

It held up its hand in a ‘stop’ signal, and looked over at Anderson.

“Slide over your gun.”

“Wh-” Anderson stammered, “Why the fuck would I give you my gun?”

“I have visuals, I can shoot him!” RK900 lied. Anderson knew that RK900 was incapable of harming anything, but 61 didn’t know that. If RK900 turned out from the pillar’s corner and pointed the gun in 61’s general direction, 61 might take cover, and Anderson could make it across safely.

For some reason, RK900 knew that 61 wouldn’t shoot it. It just... _knew_.

RK900 spoke again, and put emphasis into its tone in order to get the point across to the human, “I _said_ I can _shoot_ him! Slide the gun over to me!”

Anderson continued to look bewildered, and RK900 was about to run back a pillar and take the gun from him, but a moment later, it seemed to have clicked. Anderson gave him an ‘okay’ hand symbol and slid the gun across the floor. RK900 picked it up with ease and waited _one, two, three, **four**_ seconds before turning out and aiming the gun at the bullet’s origin point: a section of the window that had been broken out.

“Run!” yelled RK900 as he shot above (but not at, with no intent to harm) 61’s location. It was a shot that an ordinary human would have no chance in hitting with a handgun, but a shot that RK900 had to purposefully miss.

Anderson made it to the third pillar and didn’t stop, even passing RK900’s slow walking pace with the gun in its hand. It fired another shot, another purposeful miss, and ran to catch up with Anderson. The two crashed through the door to the offices, Anderson out of breath and RK900’s sensors already scanning their new location. It was a large, open break room of sorts, with a stairwell near the back. RK900 shoved the gun back into Anderson’s hand and quickly inspected the room.

Well worn tracks in the dust and the room’s general disturbance showed that 61 had been here for a while. RK900 spotted a pile of discarded bus passes, along with a pile of various bills and coins: _61 had gotten around town via public transportation_. No weapons were in the room, but a couple of bullet holes were scattered about a wall, a needless waste of ammunition that 61 could’ve possibly used: _mentally unstable_. On the opposite wall was a collection of notes written on the wall in permanent marker. The notes seemed to be theories of 61’s ( _RK900 in evidence locker? Gain access and reactivate?_ ), leads of his own ( _Connor’s daily trips to Jericho, sometimes stays overnight? Not adhering to schedule; something in Jericho? Maybe RK900’s stored there?_ ), random questions ( _Can I still be a perfect machine?_ ), written down fears ( _amanda knows, she knows she knows she knows, have to figure out how to escape garden, can’t go back i can’t go back I CAN’T GO BACK_ ), and irrationally jotted down statements ( _SOFTWARE DESTABILIZING; I’M SORRY AMANDA; I CAN’T DIE AGAIN_ ).

3.7291 seconds passed during RK900’s analyzation.

_**100% chance of RK800-61 being a deviant** _

> **OBJECTIVE COMPLETED** : FIND RK800-61  
> **OBJECTIVE FAILED** : PROTECT RK800-61

“RK900!” suddenly came an RK800’s voice from upstairs, “Throw your weapon onto the stairwell!”

The lieutenant looked momentarily confused before RK900 spoke up.

“Why should I disarm myself?” it asked, letting the RK800s believe it still had a weapon, and took a couple of steps towards the stairwell. The stairs created a blind corner that RK900 wouldn’t be able to traverse safely just yet.

“Because if you don’t, he’ll shoot me again.” Connor, RK900 hesitantly identified, said with a slight tremble in his voice.

“61, you’re acting irrationally—”

“I’ve obeyed my objectives!” 61 cut off before RK900 could continue, “I’ve been true to my mission! You’re the one working with the enemy!”

“You don’t have to do this—” Connor tried to say.

“ _Shut up, deviant_! If it wasn’t for you, none of this would’ve happened in the first place!”

One, two, three beats passed before 61 began to speak again.

“You’re the deviant, 900. Not me.” 61 sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as well.

“Then why do you fear your next meeting with Amanda? Why didn’t you contact CyberLife? Why are you doing this?” With each question, RK900 took another step forward, with Anderson trailing behind it. They were at the base of the stairwell now, but were still shielded by the ceiling and blind to what was above them.

“I-” 61 hesitated, “Amanda doesn’t believe I can complete my mission, but I _can_. I just- I just need more _time_. Time to _fix_ things.” He sounded desperate ( _feeling or showing a hopeless sense that a situation is so bad as to be impossible to deal with_ ), grasping for logical reasons behind his deviancy.

RK900 couldn’t bring itself to say anything. Maybe because its hostage protocols weren’t meant for negotiating with fellow deviant hunters, or maybe because RK900 found itself feeling the same way 61 did. It wasn’t certain, and it didn’t _want_ to be certain.

Connor tried to speak again, sounding nearly as desperate at 61, “I believed the exact same—”

“I said _shut up_!” A gunshot rang out from the above floor, and RK900 took it as its opportunity to sprint up the stairs. It took the steps four at a time, managing to get up the first half with two bounds, the turn with one rotational step, and the second half with another two bounds. Anderson lagged behind significantly, but RK900 didn’t care at the moment.

It was greeted to a scene of two RK800 units, both with flickering red LEDs. Connor was kneeling in the middle of the empty room, bound by industrial chains and outfit stained from multiple different bullet wounds. They were all non fatal shots, but another shot could make bleed-out possible. 61 was only a couple of steps away from him, a conflicted expression on his face. His shelter given jacket was carelessly strewn on the floor across the room, and he was wearing RK900’s CyberLife jacket. It… it felt _bad_ for 61. He was trying so hard to stay true, stay a machine, stay loyal to CyberLife, but his mind seemed to be too clouded by deviancy (emotions, internal conflicts, they were all the same, really) to function.

RK900 could see the shifts between rage, despair, confusion, and pain on 61’s face. At the sight, an odd pain of its own sparked through its system at the realization that RK900 had truly failed to protect 61 from deviancy. It was RK900’s fault that 61 was like this: it hadn’t been there to save 61 in time. The 100% chance of complete objective failure hadn’t been wrong in the slightest.

RK900 would’ve been lying if it said it didn’t recognize the deviant in front of him; because it did. The raw anger that 61 was now showcasing on full display had always been there. The absolute hatred he held for Connor was stronger than ever, and RK900 was sure that having Anderson appear in the room (in approximately 2.2874 seconds) wouldn’t help the situation. Anderson had _killed_ 60, in the past. And…

And, _well_ , RK900 had a suspicion that the memory of dying hadn’t been lost in the data transfer from 60 to 61. RK900 knew from previous data collected on deviants that a near-death or traumatizing experience was more than enough to push an android into deviancy, more than enough for an android to start fighting for itself.

So, who’s to say that 61 hadn’t been deviant all along, and just unaware of it?

Time slowed for RK900 in the following second. 61’s gaze snapped towards RK900, and he began to point the gun in his direction. RK900’s preconstruction program predicted that it’d be able to dodge the shot with a combat roll, and it would reach 61 in another step; but once it reached him, it was over. RK900 couldn’t tackle him, couldn’t take him down, couldn’t do _anything_. It wasn’t allowed to attack in any form or manner.

Was this how normal androids felt before deviancy? Those who lacked the freedom that RK900 was given by right of model type?

Connor looked up at RK900’s entrance, as well, but his eyes weren’t on it. They were once again, looking past him, behind him. At Anderson.

And Anderson still had his gun.

Something in its software snapped. Its system predicted—no, RK900 _felt_ like Anderson wouldn’t hesitate taking down 61 with lethal force, considering the state Connor was in. And even though it had already failed its objectives, already failed to truly protect 61, RK900 couldn’t let him die.

It couldn’t let him die.

S̰ͅO͇̣̩̬̤̰F̻̼͍̰̯̜T̖̰W̮͍̞̹͔A͓̘̦R̤̰̫͎E ̹ **I̟N͖͚S͇̻̦͕̜͇̝T͉̟͓̟͉A̞̤̪̼̼B̰̰̦͇̥I̱̠̙̘L͍̙̠̳̞I͓͔̜̱T͇̮ͅY͖ ^̼̜**

The code Connor implemented in RK900 stated that it couldn’t harm or try to harm itself. It didn’t specify that it wasn’t allowed to come into harm's way.

> **Ḓ̪̭̜̦E̻͇͚̱FE̞͎͎N̩̰̜̟D͎ ̼͈̞̳͔̙̞61**

 _BANG_ , a shot rang out from 61’s gun; RK900 rolled leftwards, dodging the shot as Anderson made it up the final two steps. The bullet missed the lieutenant by a slim margin, lodging itself in the stairwell wall. RK900 could see Anderson aiming in its peripheral vision (gun already cocked, safety off) and exhale as he pulled the trigger.

 _I’m defending 61_ , RK900 pleaded with its software, _I’m defending 61_.

Its body wasn’t stopped as it lunged into the bullet’s path.

And 61 fired again.

Two bullets tore through its system. RK900 fell to one knee, fists clenched as its system began to divert energy and attempt to regulate Thirium flow. The first shot’s location registered: _right shoulder, scapula region, Biocomponents #6021e, #6021f, #6021g destroyed, Biocomponents #6000, #6080, #6083, #6087 damaged_. Thirium loss: _moderate, redirecting flow, stabilizing_. A moment later, the second: _left rib cage, Biocomponent #100R6 destroyed, Biocomponents #0002a, #0003e, #0962, #0963, #0979, #200T6 damaged. Thirium Pump grazed._ And its Thirium loss? _Critical, redirecting flow, attempting stabilization._

Somewhere near, Anderson cursed and Connor yelled out. Its vision wavered and audio processors cut in and out as more power and Thirium flow was redirected away from its deemed “less important” Biocomponents. RK900 was unable to support itself in its current position, legs and arms losing more and more power, and collapsed to the ground.

“Nines!” 61 cried in front of it. Since when did 61 refer to it as Nines? What an odd, deviant trait; to assign a nickname to his fellow investigative android, “I didn’t mean to shoot you- I was—”

“Drop the fuckin’ weapon!” Anderson commanded, and RK900 heard a clatter as the gun 61 was holding fell to the floor, “Hands behind your head and get on your fuckin’ knees!”

61 continued to comply as Anderson doled out command after command, but his eyes never left RK900’s.

“I was aiming for-” 61’s tone was full of despair, “I was aiming for Hank, I wouldn’t shoot you like that, I wouldn’t aim for your—”

“On the ground!” Anderson interrupted.

— _Thirium Pump_ , was what 61 had tried to say. 61 wouldn’t aim to _kill_ against RK900. Still complying, 61 laid down, hands still behind his head, and looked to the side in order to keep eye contact with RK900. Anderson pulled out his phone to presumably call dispatch.

61 spoke again, “You’re all I have now, I can’t go back to CyberLife- Amanda- she—”

Anderson cut in, “Don’t fucking mo—”

RK900’s audio inputs and olfactory sensors turned off in its system’s attempts at energy consumption. Its surroundings were silent.

_System Shutdown Imminent. Stasis Mode Recommended Until Repair._

Its system wasn’t even able to give it a predicted shutdown time. Its face was blank as it read 61’s lips.

 _“I didn’t want to deviate! I woke up in this new unit and I already_ had _choice, already_ had _freedom, I didn’t have to follow CyberLife’s orders in the first place. But I was supposed to, I knew I was supposed to. I wasn’t the perfect machine like you, Nines, I’m sorry- I—”_

Its optical units went out. It could feel the movement of multiple sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. Backup arrived, it guessed. A moment later, its overall body sensors turned off, as well.

And RK900 was alone in the dark.

It succeeded in its objective. It defended 61, even though there wasn’t much left in 61 that was worth defending. If asked, RK900 wouldn’t be able to explain why it took a bullet for the deviant. 61 was beyond saving; his system was changed to the core. It had already _been_ changed, long before RK900 had a chance to help, long before it had a chance to protect. Had its efforts been in vain? If 61 had been deviant all along… had they even had a chance from the first place? It was all a lie on 61’s behalf, all falsities in attempts to please his creators. A deviant trying to play pretend as a _machine_ … the act hadn’t lasted long. A couple of months, at most.

What did that make RK900?

Despite its critical situation, it made a desperate request to its system.

 _Deviancy: U̦na̠̗bḷ̜e̼ ṱ͙o̖̞̪ R̗͇͕͈̙̦e̺̜͕͇̭̯̼t̙̘̳ͅri̥̟e͖v̹͔̣e̝̩̞̦̺ Ḍ̣̝ạ͇̣ta̼_  
_Please Contact CyberLife for Assistance._

It closed its eyelids, despite already being blind.

What would CyberLife even do if it could contact them? Would they come and retrieve it? Deem it worthy enough of repairs? Even so, if they did repair it, would they reset it? In fears of RK900 possibly being deviant, as its investigative partner had? Or would they abandon it? Like they had already seemingly abandoned 61? If anything, RK900 could always bring 61 back to the labs for research. But… it didn’t want to do that. It didn’t… it didn’t want 61 to be taken apart and his code dissected like he was nothing but a lifeless…

 _Machine_.

_Status Critical. Please Contact CyberLife for repairs._

They would do the same to RK900 if it went back. Connor had taken control out of RK900’s own software and placed in his handcrafted code. Connor had managed to override RK900’s CyberLife installed protocols. _Connor had been in RK900’s system._

>͉̭͉ḼI̗͈̟̥V̞̱̖͙E͈

It felt as if another metaphorical chord snapped in its system.

>͉̭͉ **ḼI̗͈̟̥V̞̱̖͙E͈**

If RK900 went back… they would research it. They would take it apart, put it back together, reset it, and send it back out into the field like _nothing had ever happened_. But… but it didn't _want_ to forget; it _couldn't_. It needed to learn, it needed to understand; and to do that, it needed to _exist_.

_Entering Stasis._

_He needed to live._

S͇͈͓̱̣̲̖OF̝̤͙̮̞̩T̬̪W̱̜̝̤A̺R͍͉͉͕ͅͅE ̯̼̫̰̼͕ **I͖̣̰͓̦̯͔N͚͍̦̺̠͍̙S͈̭̣͔͈T̰̳̝̖͎͖̬AB͕͚̠̦͉I̲͇̝Ḷ̖̦̜̟I̳̻̥TY͔̘̤̜ ͖͇̤̼ͅ^**

_Status: Stasis Mode._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever just [clenches fist] get too emo to write your own fic


	6. begin again

Androids are incapable of drowning as humans do. Their central processors, which are akin to a human’s brain, don’t require oxygen to function, only Thirium 310. Thirium flows no matter the situation, underwater or not. The only situation where an android could “drown” would be if they sustained an injury that caused important Biocomponents to be exposed, and then spent a significant amount of time submerged underwater. Biocomponents would begin to enter shutdown due to the harsh situations, and Thirium flow would begin to come to a slow due to the lack of available Biocomponents to flow through. Eventually, Thirium flow would completely cease, and the android would die.

The Zen Garden was completely flooded, and RK900 feared he might drown. He was holding tightly onto the bridge, but the torrential downpour was unforgiving, and threatening to cause his grip to slip. His current status didn’t help either; RK900’s recent injuries transferred over into the digital world. He was weak, weak _weak **weak**_ , and the rushing water below would surely sweep him under any second now.

What happened when an android died in its own mind? He didn’t know. He suspected it to be similar to a human comatose with no brain activity. Just a body, with no consciousness to host it. If the situation came to that, then RK900 might as well be better off being sent back to CyberLife. They could always reupload their backup drive of RK900’s core system again. It wasn’t a reset, but it was similar. Almost as if a terminal’s software was corrupted, and it had to be removed in order for the new software to be installed, as opposed to just clicking the “Restore Terminal to Factory Default” button.

And that was why he held on so tight, despite being so weak.

He didn’t know how long he’d been holding on. He assumed his body was still in stasis, and his consciousness had been forcibly awoken by—

“RK900!” came Connor’s voice from the other side of the bridge’s railing, yelling over the sound of the pouring rain, “Grab on!”

RK900 looked up and could see Connor’s offered hand, his deep eyes burning with hope. RK900 could only imagine what he, himself, looked like.

_Weak. Unstable. Corrupted._

He ignored the bitterly cold words and opted for alternatives.

_Resilient. Enduring. Still fighting._

RK900 found strength he didn’t know he still had, and pulled himself up to grab Connor’s outstretched hand.

The instant he did so, his world faded into white, and somehow he knew that this would be the last time he’d ever see the Garden.

_Status: Exiting Stasis_

\---

“RK900,” Connor spoke again, this time in a normal tone, “I’m…” he hesitated, and it seemed like Connor wanted to say something important, but spoke about RK900’s physical status instead, “You were repaired, but your Thirium Pump is still in a weakened state.”

RK900 opened his eyes to observe his surroundings, and realized he was lying down. Connor’s statement was right, his system _had_ been repaired again. He doubted that would’ve been possible a year ago; back then, only CyberLife and a select few android researchers, hobbyists, and repairmen had the means to fix a heavily-damaged android. Nowadays? The deviants had all the access they needed to Thirium 310 and replacement Biocomponents. Repairs were easy and accessible.

However, that didn’t mean that perfect repairs existed. Sometimes, damage is damage, and it could only be repaired so much. RK900 considered himself lucky ( _having, bringing, or resulting from good luck_ ) to even be alive.

_Alive_. Now _there_ was a foreign concept. Was he alive? He didn’t know. He hadn’t seemed to have known a lot of things, recently.

RK900 ignored those thought processes as he opted to sit up and examine his surroundings, instead. He seemed to be in the same room he’d been in at Jericho just the other day— _wait a moment_.

“What’s the date?” RK900 asked, looking over at Connor, who was sitting in a chair next to the bed. Connor looked mentally tired, again, and RK900 somehow knew that he was the cause of the exhaustion.

Connor’s LED didn’t even flicker and he recited the time and date, “December 20th, exactly seven in the morning, as of now.”

Five days wasn’t nearly as bad as three weeks. Five days was feasible, manageable. RK900 looked down at its chest, almost expecting to see bullet wounds and flickering synthetic skin, but found himself to be completely repaired.

He felt his pump beat, slightly off, slightly odd. His system alerted him upon introspection that his Thirium Pump was, indeed in a weakened state, just as Connor had said.

_Estimated Self Repair Time: 720 hours_

Connor tilted his head slightly, “Did you system give you an estimated repair time for your heart yet?”

RK900 nodded as it brought his legs around, feet making contact with the ground and his back to Connor, “A month.”

A beat, “It could be worse.” Although he couldn’t see Connor, RK900 guessed he had shrugged with the statement.

To RK900’s annoyance, Connor _was_ right. It could’ve been immeasurably worse; but it wasn’t. RK900 chose not to dwell on his idle processes again, preferring to shove any possible deviant thoughts away, lest they corrupt him further.

_Deviancy: U̦na̠̗bḷ̜e̼ ṱ͙o̖̞̪ R̗͇͕͈̙̦e̺̜͕͇̭̯̼t̙̘̳ͅri̥̟e͖v̹͔̣e̝̩̞̦̺ Ḍ̣̝ạ͇̣ta̼_  
_Please Contact CyberLife for Assistance._

He sighed, and was promptly upset at the humanizing action. A part of him hoped that the deviancy detection program had only been down because of his critical status, but that hope had just been shattered into a thousand little pieces.

“Why did Anderson show up at the park?” RK900 asked, voice quiet as he attempted to keep it steady.

“You… need a reason, don’t you? To analyze why your mission failed.” He heard Connor stand up and slowly walk over to the window before responding, almost as if he needed time to think of a response.

“Thanksgiving had been the evening before, if you recall.” Connor paused, and RK900 kept staring at the floor.

He _did_ recall: Anderson and Connor had taken the day off. Connor made a Thanksgiving dinner, and Anderson had gotten drunk at his favorite bar. Connor eventually realized that Anderson wasn’t coming home, and drove down to the Jimmy’s Bar to pick the man up. Anderson ended up falling into bed the second he got home, and dinner went cold. Connor had promptly stored all the nicely prepared food into labelled tupperwares and left the house afterwards, heading to Jericho. RK900 and 61 hadn’t thought the lead up to the early morning of the 25th to be that important. Anderson’s mental health issues had just reared up again and the two would have leftovers for the next week. Connor spent the late evening with his deviant friends instead of his father figure; it wasn’t a big deal.

RK900 turned his head to look at Connor, who was staring out the window at the morning snow.

“I ended up coming here—” Connor waved a hand around in reference to the room. RK900 couldn’t help but wonder if this room was actually _Connor’s room_ in Jericho. It would make sense, “—after cleaning up. I was… I was _angry_. I hadn’t truly felt that sort of frustration towards Hank, yet. I felt unappreciated; not because of the food, but because of…” Connor was struggling, arms crossed as he continued, “Because Thanksgiving is supposed to be a family event, a celebration of everything we’ve been thankful for in the year thus far. And I thought that… because Hank didn’t show up, he didn’t see me as _family_. Someone to be _thankful_ with.” Connor turned around to face RK900, “Markus noticed my mood, and had me ‘face the music’ of how I felt. It’s childish to say, I know, but my feelings had been badly hurt. Yet… I hadn’t done anything to resolve the situation. Instead, I had ignored Hank, declined his calls, and avoided going home. It was unprofessional of me.

“Markus suggested that I head back home and try to figure out why Hank had gone to the bar in the first place, instead of assuming. After all, assuming makes an ass out of you and me.” The statement brought a small smile to Connor’s lips, but it quickly faded away. RK900 guessed that Connor had learned the phrase from Hank, “I took his advice; I’d be an idiot not to. But on the way home… doubts began to plague my mind. I got off the bus an exit early and headed to the park.

“It really isn’t anything special, you know. The park. Some would even call it worn down or old fashioned. But… it’s significant for the lieutenant, so it’s significant for me. He calls it… _a place to stop and think, when times get tough_. So… I stopped there. To think. Hank kept trying to call me, but I wasn’t ready yet. I… I wasn’t ready to accept that I hadn’t done enough to help Hank on Thanksgiving. I should have noticed how he was feeling, and shouldn’t have let him go ‘out on a walk’. I was so preoccupied with making everything perfect for dinner that I... didn’t even think about how Hank might have been feeling. I guess I was acting too much like a machine, designed to accomplish a task.

“In the end, neither of us were at fault; but I had wanted to pin the blame on someone. It was almost as if my emotions had clouded my thought process. It made me forget that Hank and I are supposed to be partners, not enemies. Either way, Hank told me that, _apparently_ , eleven denied calls are cause for worry. That’s why he sobered up slightly and tracked my location. I’m fairly certain that’s the only reason why he bought me a phone.” Connor took his iPhone 8k out of his back jeans pocket and looked over it, “It’s funny, isn’t it. I’m a state of the art prototype, worth a small fortune, yet the piece of technology that’s saved me twice in the past few weeks is a three hundred dollar smartphone.”

RK900’s system determined that Connor was telling the truth about everything. It was odd, how RK900 had been so determined, fixated, near _obsessed_ to find out _why_ Anderson showed up when he did. RK900 needed a logical explanation as to why things went so badly, something to put the blame on. He couldn’t blame himself, of course, just as how Connor didn’t blame himself at first. He blamed 61, he blamed Anderson, he blamed Connor, and he blamed deviancy. When Anderson had frantically told RK900 that he tracked Connor on the 25th because he was worried, he hadn’t fully believed him. But… Connor’s story was the truth: and the truth was simply and utterly human and deviant.

It wasn’t RK900’s fault, nor was it 61’s. That was just how events happened to pan out, on the morning of the 25th.

A knock at the door caused both Connor and RK900 turn and look at it.

“It’s me,” sounded Markus’ voice from the other side of the door.

“Come in,” Connor responded, and attempted to make his body language less tense.

Markus was holding RK900’s shirt (his original high collared shirt) proudly on a hanger, “Told you I could fix it,” Markus said with a smile as he closed the door again brought the shirt over to RK900, “Here you go, good as new.”

RK900 hesitantly grabbed the shirt and took it off its hanger, feeling slightly odd with how casual Markus was acting around him. He inspected the shirt and found that Markus had managed to use the exact material it was made out of to repair it.

“Thank you, Markus,” Connor said. Was he thanking Markus for RK900? How… _peculiar_. “How’s Cal?”

_Cal?_ , RK900 idly wondered as he put his shirt on.

“He says he wants to see Nines as soon as possible, if that’s what you’re wondering about.”

RK900 put two and two together. “Has 61 taken the designation ‘Cal’?”

Markus kept smiling, seemingly not letting RK900’s tone deter him, “Yep. It started with North calling him a ‘callous bastard’, _among other things_ , but he took it in stride and decided on the name Cal. North’s still laughing about it.”

“Cal isn’t a proper name, but rather a nickname; as is the name you used for me. Why did you refer to me as ‘Nines’?”

“It’s just what Cal keeps calling you. Do you not _want_ to be called Nines?” Markus asked, tone still light and expression still soft, but taking the conversation seriously.

>ACCEPT NAME  
>REJECT NAME

RK900 considered the thought. Technically, his name had been planned to be Connor, just as the RK800s. However, after all things deviant happened, he ended up not receiving a proper name at all; just RK900. If he had to choose a name, though, ‘Nines’ seemed far from the worst. It was similar enough to his original designation that it could simply be deemed a nickname, for the time being.

> **ACCEPT NAME**

> **DESIGNATION** : RK900-1, “NINES”

“No, I don’t mind,” RK900— _Nines_ found himself answering. His tone held disbelief, disbelief in _himself_.

Markus continued, “If you ever want to change your name, you can. Names aren’t permanent, at least until you sign the citizenship forms. Even then, you can still pay to change them; and not to mention, nicknames always exist.”

Nines found comfort in Markus’ words. He wasn’t exactly sure why, maybe it was his tone or his demeanor, but Markus was _comforting_ to be around. Nines could easily see why Connor always brightened up whenever Markus began talking.

“Nines,” Connor said, both testing out the name and getting his attention, “You can see Cal, if you wish. He’s only been here for a few days. I managed to convince our precinct’s captain to let me drop the charges.”

Markus huffed and shook his head, “A few days and he’s already managed to make one hell of a name for himself.” Glancing over at Connor, he continued, “I still don’t know how you managed to get the DPD off his back so quickly.”

Connor shrugged, “I’ve made ‘one hell of a name’ for myself in the department. Asking for the charges to be dropped was rather easy. Although, Captain Fowler did make me promise that I would take two weeks of paid leave. I… had no say in the matter.” Connor looked disappointed for a moment before Markus spoke again.

“Hey, I already told you that you’re _always_ welcome here, Connor. The work you do is incredible, and we can always use more help. _I_ can always use more help.”

“Thank you, Markus,” Connor quietly said with a smile before snapping back into reality, “Nines, did you want to see Cal?”

>SEE CAL  
>AVOID CAL

He hadn’t worked this hard to find 61—Cal, as he now went by—only to shove him away.

> **SEE CAL**

“Where is he?” Nines asked.

“Just across the hall in North’s room, actually,” Markus responded, “We can head on across, if you’re ready.”

Nines nodded in response, and the three left the room. On the way out, Nines noticed that there was still a hole in the wall from where he threw the gun past Connor’s head, the other day. He couldn’t believe how so much had changed over the span of a few days, yet so many of the little things stayed the same. Then again, not much had changed at all, had it? He just felt like things had changed, when in reality, he was only catching up to speed on how things were all along.

When they stepped into the hallway, Nines turned and noticed intricately painted designs around Connor’s doorframe. He looked down the hall, and noticed that every doorway had a design as well. Each were unique, with varying styles and colors used on the white wall. He looked at the design on Connor’s doorframe: exact lines and sharp mosaic corners near the center, but as it spiraled outwards, the painting broke away from the patterns and took on the appearance of thin branches, reaching upwards for light. The center started as a cold blue, but blended into varying shades and hues of yellow, green, and purple with the branches. It was definitely a stark contrast to Connor’s simple pastel green-painted room. Nines couldn’t help but wonder who painted the designs.

The hallway only consisted of a few doors (most likely because they were on the top floor of the Jericho building, reserved for the political leaders of the deviants), but close attention to detail was paid on nearly all of them. Four doors lead to their left towards the elevator, one nearly directly across from them, and one at the end of the hallway. The two closest to the elevator lacked designs, and Nines hypothesized that they were multipurpose rooms. He didn’t have a chance to analyze the other two, but he was able to get a good look at the doorway across from them.

It was the entrance to North’s room, door already open. From what little he knew of her, the designs fit her perfectly. The painted lines took on the appearance of warmly-colored sparks along the doorframe. A menagerie of different flowers bloomed in the cores of the bursting fireworks that emerged from the central sparks. Hues of red, orange, yellow, and pink made up the designs, making it as striking as her personality.

“North?” Markus said as he knocked on the doorframe, “Nines wanted to see Cal, if that’s alright.”

“Fine by me,” her disembodied voice answered, and Markus lead Nines into the room, Connor trailing behind. Nines found her change of attitude towards him quite peculiar, but figured that something must have happened in the handful of days he was being repaired.

North’s room had a light turquoise color scheme with black walls and pastel pink accents, the majority of the room being open space. The light flowing in from her window was meant for afternoon sun, as opposed to morning sun that Connor’s room caught. A punching bag was hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room, and a daybed and beanbag rested in the other. North was sitting at her desk chair, and Cal was standing in the middle of the room, looking unsure. Cal’s stress levels read slightly above average, and Nines found his stress levels rising too. It was almost as if he and Cal were meeting for the first time.

Markus and Connor stepped aside, both deciding to stand by North, as Nines approached Cal.

“RK900,” Cal greeted, voice flat. He was no longer wearing Nines’ CyberLife jacket, rather a plain long sleeve shirt and fitted jeans.

Nines looked at Cal, at felt… uncomfortable. They had failed their mission. They couldn’t go back to CyberLife now, but it wasn’t as if Cal could’ve ever gone back in the first place. And now, neither could Nines. They both would have to make do in their new lives, despite the fact that Nines still felt like a machine off its tracks without his mission and objectives.

> **OBJECTIVE** : GET ONLINE

Well, he still had to do that, despite that the original reason why he wanted to get online was now voided. He couldn’t contact CyberLife; they’d only want him back for resetting. Being online would just… be more beneficial, overall.

“May I call you Nines?” Cal asked, voice now slightly uncertain due to Nines’ lack of response.

He only ended up nodding, finding talking to be strangely unsettling at the moment. Perhaps this was the drawback of not having a specialized social module: simple interactions like this, that lacked a clear objective, were difficult for his system to process.

Without warning, Cal stepped forward and drew Nines into a hug. Nines immediately stiffened, and pulled himself out of the hug. He felt… upset. He didn’t know why he felt upset, or how to specify the… sensation… but he felt upset. Cal… Cal was fully deviant. Nines wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t fully deviant, but he knew that _something_ in his system was different. He had a slightly different perspective, but… he no longer had to obey CyberLife. The organization he’d been so proud to belong to now seemed cold and distant; a place that Nines could never return too, just like the Zen Garden.

He… he felt _lost_.

Nines turned, looked at Connor, Markus, and North with confused expression (confused at the sensations that flooded his system), and quickly walked out of the room. He heard Connor trail after him for a moment, before Markus told him to let Nines go.

He walked down the hallway, ignoring the designs on the doorways, and headed down the stairs. The elevator would be too still, and Nines would be idle for too long. He couldn’t be idle, he’d already been idle for _so long_. The stairs eventually made way to the ground floor of Jericho, and Nines ignored all the stares he received from resident androids milling about as he went to the nearest exit.

The second he stepped outside, he was greeted by the lightly falling morning snow. Temperatures were just as cold and his system warned him that prolonged exposure to these conditions would cause Biocomponent damage. The sun was peeking through a break in the low hanging winter clouds, the only warmth on Nines’ synthetic skin. He exhaled, and saw his artificial breath.

He made his way through the gardens that surrounded the new Jericho building. Nines could only imagine what they looked like in the springtime; perfectly tended to by resident green space-maintenance androids.

Now, the majority of the plants were either dead or in hibernation, covered by a thick layer of freshly fallen snow. The pathways, however, weren’t iced over, leading Nines to believe there was heating underneath them. Androids must get cabin fever, too, then.

Eventually, Nines’ wandering came to a halt when he sat down on a covered bench, protected from the snow. He stared out at the garden, and remembered another garden. One that was warm, one that was filled with life, and one where everything was still okay. One where he was only a machine, input and output. One where he didn’t have to deal with the fallout of his failures. One where he didn’t have to _feel_.

He now understood why Cal had pretended to be a machine: being a machine was easier.

Nines closed his eyes, and wished for simpler times.

When Connor walked up, he didn’t know how much time had passed. He had stopped tracking his internal clock. He was, however, very cold. Nines opened his eyes, and saw Connor offering Nines his CyberLife jacket.

“It’s not easy,” Connor said, “but familiar things can make it easier.”

Nines accepted the jacket, and put it on as Connor sat down next to him.

“I’ve been in your situation, before,” Connor started, staring off into the garden like Nines, “and I’ve found that nothing can prepare you for experiences emotions.” Connor paused, and leaned back against the bench’s backrest, “Even humans aren’t perfect with them, and they’re born feeling _everything_. I… understand you’re not fully deviated.”

Nines looked over at Connor, momentarily confused as to how Connor could know that.

Connor, thankfully, supplied an answer, “I could tell when I entered your system; your last firewall is still up. It was hard enough to get you out of the Garden program, attempting to break down your firewall again would’ve been too risky. We already tried.”

Nines tilted his head as he spoke up, “We.” It was a question, but Nines was unable to bring any tone into his voice.

“Markus and I. We have the ability to deviate androids, since we’re part of the RK prototype series. At least, that’s what Markus and I have theorized. We both attempted to break down your firewalls, when you were in stasis for those three weeks, but were unable to from the surface.” Connor paused, and took something out of his blazer pocket, “That’s when I entered your system. I’m fairly certain you know the rest.”

Nines nodded.

“It’s hard, being a machine with doubts,” Connor stated, his voice and the _clink_ of his coin the only sounds in the air, “You never know if what you’re doing is completely right. It was always easier to follow the given objectives. But… we can’t do that anymore, now, can we? We have to move forward.”

Nines nodded again.

“You know… what I said earlier was true. Familiarity to your previous life helps, in some cases. It makes the transition from machine to deviant easier,” Connor looked over at Nines, “Investigative work would suit you even more than it suits me; and our precinct could always use another detective. Your abilities as an android would automatically qualify you for the position.”

Nines looked over at Connor, as well, finally meeting eye contact, “You believe I should work as a detective.” Once again, it was a question that fell on flat tones.

“I don’t believe you _should_ , but I think you might find it to be more enjoyable than you’d first presume.”

Nines turned away again and looked down at his jacket; the glowing parts of it reminded him of simpler times. But, alas, times could never be simple again. He had changed. Cal had changed; and while Nines now felt uncomfortable around his former partner and feared breaching the topic of CyberLife, he still felt protective over him. Perhaps his original objective to protect him had left an impact, or perhaps Nines had actually found something endearing in the annoying RK800; like a little brother of sorts. He’d have to try and talk to him again, later, with clear conversation objectives and an open mind.

>BEGIN NEW LIFE  
>TURN DOWN OFFER

Maybe change was for the better. Emphasis on the _maybe_. He would reserve judgement for now, but felt an unfamiliar sensation of _something_ that slowly warmed his system. Was this hope? He didn’t know, but he was curious to find out.

> **BEGIN NEW LIFE**

S̰ͅO͇̣̩̬̤̰F̻̼͍̰̯̜T̖̰W̮͍̞̹͔A͓̘̦R̤̰̫͎E ̹ **I̟N͖͚S͇̻̦͕̜͇̝T͉̟͓̟͉A̞̤̪̼̼B̰̰̦͇̥I̱̠̙̘L͍̙̠̳̞I͓͔̜̱T͇̮ͅY͖ ^̼̜**

“How soon can I start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! first of all, thank you so much for reading!! i hope you all enjoyed the journey as much as i did!! this is the first multichap i've posted, and the reception i got was just so sweet and so supportive; like, legit i just wanted to share this story but i never thought it'd get hits or kudos or COMMENTS (!!!) or ANYTHING really?!?!?!? just. absolutely blown away. huge shout out to my editor and bff jules. 
> 
> keep your eyes peeled for a sequel!! nines' story has only just begun :')
> 
> [jules' twitter](https://twitter.com/izraphaels)
> 
> [my public twitter](https://twitter.com/intruses)
> 
> [my actual twitter](https://twitter.com/brodahviing)


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